Un Uccello Fatale Di Nome Chromaggia
by INMH
Summary: Snape/Mag. A Fatal Bird Named Chromaggia. Pre-Sorcerer's Stone. He wouldn't have put money on the idea that this woman was a witch.
1. Chapter 1

Un Uccello Fatale Di Nome Chromaggia

Rating: PG-13/T  
Genre: Drama/Romance  
Summary: A Fatal Bird Named Chromaggia. Pre-Sorcerer's Stone. He wouldn't have put money on the idea that this woman was a witch.

Author's Note: Uh, about the title: It's a line from the song 'Chromaggia', and I got it from one established translation (As in, the only one I looked at).

Now, I know little to nothing about proper, modern Italian grammar and word ordering. I'm assuming 'uccello' means bird, because the title translates to 'A Fatal Bird Named Chromaggia', which is exactly what I wanted and meant for the title to mean.

So if you know Italian and think there's something off about the word ordering or the spelling, or I have an extra word in there or vice versa, let me know.

OH YEAH, AND ABOUT THE ACTUAL STORY: I don't know. It one day occurred to me, after seeing REPO! for the first time, that Mag needed some serious love.

And then my wandering eyes drifted to the Harry Potter DVD sitting on my desk.

…

Yeah.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Repo! The Genetic Opera. Harry Potter is J.K. Rowling's, and Repo! belongs to Darren Smith and Terrance Zdunich.

...

He wouldn't have put money on the idea that this woman was a witch.

She was too… _Muggle_-ish. She didn't carry a wand- that he could see- and she seemed easily accustomed to the average life of a muggle, insofar as she could; the woman was a celebrity and ergo did not have the life of most muggles.

Of course, it would be a bit unfair to judge at this point: He'd had yet to see her when she wasn't surrounded by people, all of whom were most likely muggles. Rule number one about being a witch or wizard: Don't ever, ever do magic in front of muggles unless it's a matter of life or death.

She'd caught his eye first when he seen her face on a poster- he was still trying to get used to how they didn't _move_ here. Even he, who rarely paid a kind word to anyone, had to admit that this woman, muggle or otherwise, was an extraordinary beauty. Her eyes were particularly captivating, shining on the cheap paper they were printed on in spite of the lack of magical touches he was used to seeing.

His attention lingered on the picture a little longer than it might have usually. It wasn't like he had anything better to do.

_Vacation_¸ Dumbledore had said. _Get away from the school_, Dumbledore had said. _Go to America! See the sights! Goodness knows you deserve some rest after this year!_ The Twin Terrors known as Fred and George Weasley had entered the school that past year, and the staff was still reeling. Being thoroughly disliked by most of the Weasleys, he had suffered the worst of the twins' wrath. And damn them, they were smart: They knew how to cover their tracks.

_Pretend to have some fun, and you may end up finding some on accident!_

Right.

This was rude, and he silently reprimanded himself a moment later, but he couldn't help but, ever so briefly, wonder if maybe Dumbledore was a closet-alcoholic.

**_ToNiGhT's GeNeTiC oPeRa!_**

**_CoMe SeE tHe OnE aNd OnLy_**

**_BLIND MAG!_**

'Blind Mag?' A stage name, no doubt. Pop culture did little for him, and his brains fried every year at Hogwarts from having to throw himself into a mass of students who obsessed over it.

The woman on the poster drifted to the very back, the very edge of his mind for the next few hours until he saw her again.

This time, in person.

She stood out, that was for sure. She was even more attractive in person, and even from the several yards of distance away he could see her unnatural eyes glittering. Her hair was long, black and wavy. She couldn't have been more than a few years- three at most- younger than him, and he had yet to meet someone younger than him who held such a natural poise as she.

He also had yet to meet somebody younger than him who could throw such an utterly fake smile at a crowd of people and have it still look thoroughly convincing to the average observer.

It seemed that she was being interviewed. A short, sturdy man in an expensive black suit with gray hair pulled back behind his head stood next to her, giving a smile that was a little harder to read. Forced? Not quite 'fake', though.

He stopped and watched, curious.

A reporter bounded up the small set of stairs to where the woman and man were, and he grinned at the pair. "Mister Largo! Miss Mag!" He gave a little bow. "It's a pleasure. I was wondering if I could get a word?"

'Mag' shot a very small, very subtle glance at 'Largo'. It seemed she knew how to conceal such looks. He could see why; he'd been studying her expression carefully, and had just barely caught it, interpreting the gesture as one of- disgustingly enough- subservience.

_She's a brain-dead twit whose boss controls everything that leaves her mouth_. Judging from the tight dress that was clinging to her thin form, he figured her boss also controlled everything that went _into_ her mouth as well.

"Of course," Mag responded with another smile, revealing pearly white teeth. He scolded himself a bit for being distracted by her figure long enough to miss Largo's response to her silent question.

"Well, Miss Mag- May I call you Mag? Do you prefer Blind Mag?"

"Mag is fine." Her mouth had to be aching by now. He had a mind to time her and see how long that smile could last.

"Mag, Blind Mag, the 'Voice of GeneCo'? You go by a lot of names! That last one in particular is the one pertinent to my question." Something flickered behind her eyes and he knew that she had realized, just as he had, that this was going to be one of those not-so-pleasant Q&A's.

"As the Voice of GeneCo, you are more often than not the one who promote the various organ surgeries provided by the company, correct? Particularly the surgeries involving cornea repair and replacement, right?"

Mag nodded, her expression neutral. "I am."

"Then how do you feel about the statistics that claim that forty people that had that kind of surgery within the last six months have had their eyes violently repossessed by the GeneCo employed Repomen, sixteen of which bled to death before they could reach help?"

Mag was spared from a response by a pair of guards stepping forward and pushing the reporter back towards the crowd. "My deepest apologies, but we really must get to the preparations for the opera tonight." Largo had stepped forward, placing a hand on Mag's shoulder as he spoke.

She flinched when the skin of his hand made contact with her shoulder, bare in the spaghetti-strapped dress.

Her expression was still carefully neutral as the reporter continued to shout out accusations to Largo and Mag.

From his good distance away, he saw that though Mag's expression was neutral, her head was tipped down slightly.

And her eyes were filled with shame.

...

This was stalking.

This was wrong.

This was _creepy_.

This was probably illegal.

And yet since he'd seen that shame that had flooded into Mag's eyes, he'd been transfixed with her. Maybe she was human, or something close to it. Maybe she wasn't as big of a twit as he'd assumed. Maybe she just had an ironclad hand poised at her throat, ready to squeeze it shut if the wrong words came out at the wrong time.

By simply finding her here and there throughout Sanitarium Island, he found his hypotheses about her to be true enough. With a bit of magic and some careful listening, he heard her speak at length: She was very intelligent, though she seemed to hide it and dumb herself down when she thought it would suit her purpose.

Unfortunately, the imagery of the iron hand around her throat was getting clearer and clearer as well. This man- Rotti Largo- owned GeneCo, the company that basically ruled Sanitarium Island. Mag was contracted to him, and this apparently gave Rotti's three children- Luigi, Pavi and Amber- license to, at least verbally, beat on Mag whenever they felt like it.

The youngest of those three brats couldn't have been older than twenty, the oldest was perhaps twenty-five, and yet they all acted like a bunch of spoiled five year-olds.

_Psychotic_ five year-olds.  
One had rage issues, the other liked to cut off peoples' faces, and the one girl's appearance was constantly- and radically- changing (Why not? Daddy owned the company, and she probably had endless access to the resources). When he'd once- and only once, as a result- asked somebody about the Largo girl, there was great deal of grumbling and the mumbling of a word- "Scalpel Slut"?- before the person wandered off.

He hadn't even met them or spoken to them, and he was getting headaches just from listening to them. How had Mag _done_ it all these years?

His impulsiveness was startling, even to himself. He was acting more Gryffindor than Slytherin, and was not happily anticipating meeting Dumbledore at the beginning of August when he returned.

_Severus! How was your vacation?_

_I spent it stalking a soprano who's contracted to the family from hell, in a city stinking of blood and fear. How was yours, Headmaster?_

This was insane. This wasn't healthy. He should just go back to the hotel and sleep and try to forget.

But no, he'd tried that before, and it had failed. This Mag woman was turning out to quickly be the most interesting person in this godforsaken place, and he really couldn't think of anything else to do with his time than learn about her.

Oh, how far he'd fallen.

Still, there was only so much one could learn by watching and listening. If he wanted to know more about her, he'd have to speak with her, and that would be next to impossible for more than one reason.  
First of all, she was always with _somebody_. Guards, assistants, one of those lunatic Largo kids- always _someone_ in the way.  
Second of all, how exactly would he _approach_ her? He was far from the type to walk up and randomly introduce himself to a woman who'd never met him or even heard of him before.

However, it seemed that luck was favoring him one particular night.

What he _didn't _know was that there was one place that Mag was allowed some privacy, outside of her apartment (And he wasn't stupid or desperate enough to try and talk to her there- Wait a minute, since when did _desperation_ play into this? This wasn't some stupid muggle made-for-TV movie about fatal passion, dammit!). One place where he might be able to speak to her, at least briefly.

The cemetery was deserted except for the various officers that patrolled it, looking for grave robbers. Something about 'zydrate' and 'consulting GenTerns' to see if it was 'right' for you, and grave robbers getting shot on sight? The point was, given that the guards were all muggles, it was a simple matter to slip away from them and take some pleasure in one of the few places on Sanitarium Island that hadn't quite descended into the pit of corruption.

And that was where, ironically enough, he finally met her.

It would figure that it would be on accident.

He had been idly examining the headstones, trying to push away any eager memories involving late night meetings in heavy cloaks and masks in various graveyards back in Britain. He'd heard a noise behind him, saw a beam of light flicker, and swiftly moved to avoid being detected (though he was uncertain how close the GeneCop was to him). As he'd strode between two mausoleums, he'd come to the clear path again when-

"_Oof!_"

Either he'd been moving faster than he thought, or Mag had been running, because when they collided with one another it sent them both tumbling to the ground. He'd quickly pulled himself off, only recognizing her once he'd straightened up and offered a hand to her.

"I'm sorry," She said, accepting the help. "I didn't see you."

"And I didn't see you." He'd gone from two weeks of being no less than fifteen feet away from her at all times to suddenly being close enough to touch her, and he felt completely unfazed. With any luck, this troublesome mini-obsession would be over with thanks to this minor encounter.

She studied his face for a moment, and for the first time her saw her eyes up close and personal. They weren't her true eyes- based on what he'd learned from the digging he'd done, she had been born blind, and had received her new, working eyes at age nineteen- The same year she'd signed on with GeneCo.

They were a bright, silvery blue with small, dark lines running through the irises. Quite pretty, though he wouldn't express such a sentiment out loud even if threatened with the Cruciatus curse.

She was still staring at him.

The unfortunate thing about his personality (A minor issue that had been turned into a full-blown complex courtesy of James-Bloody-Potter and Sirius-Bloody-Black) was that, when embarrassed or nervous, he tended to say cold, mean and sometimes out-right rude things to cover for his sense of insecurity.

In a nutshell, he turned into an ass.

"A little late to be mourning your dead." Rather than looking indignant and brushing him off, Mag stared coolly right back at him.

"I could say the same for you." He raised an eyebrow at this.

"Touché."

It was then that they both realized that he still had her hand in his, from when he'd helped her up. They both let go at the same time and did not show any outward signs of embarrassment or awkwardness towards one another.

"Who are you?" She inquired. He paused, wondering if he should answer. He couldn't see any harm in it.

"Severus Snape. I take it 'Blind Mag' is a stage name?" Her lip curled up into a surprisingly attractive cross between a smirk and a grimace.

"You've heard of me."

"It would be difficult to _not_ hear of you. Your face is plastered on every wall in this city." She took a deep breath and let out a huff of a laugh.

"True. My real name is Magdalene Dafoe."

He thought about that for a moment, and then tried valiantly to beat back memories of another woman he'd known who had a flower for a name.

"Hey there!"

A beam of light was suddenly jumping back and forth, from his face to hers, and they squinted against the light.

"We have permission to be here." Mag called with a weight of authority to her voice. The GeneCop hesitated, one hand still poised on the butt of the gun on his belt. He glanced between the pair for a moment- He knew of Mag, and knew that she wasn't the type to associate herself with illicit characters in graveyards.

"You have until one. That's when we totally shut down."

"Very well then." Mag responded. She didn't move, making it very clear that she wouldn't be pushed into leaving before she was good and ready. With one final, weak glance, the GeneCop turned back down to where he'd come from.

"I could be a grave robber for all you know." Mag smiled the first sincere smile he'd seen from her.

"You're too clean. And you don't seem to be jacked up on zydrate, so you fit neither of the general stereotypes on the average grave robber." His nose wrinkled.

"Zydrate?"

"A liquid painkiller extracted from corpses. Highly addictive." She motioned to the graves around them. "Rotti Largo doesn't want anyone producing Zydrate but him- why miss out on that money- so he worked in a law that says grave robbers can be shot on sight, without arrest or trial." She sniffed. "Of course, the basis of the law is the idea that the desecration of a dead body is just _ghastly._"

He raised an eyebrow at her. "And where does he get his?" Mag smirked.

"I haven't a clue." She glanced over his shoulder and he turned to follow her vision. Just the light from a flashlight glinting off a tomb. "You're not from around here, are you? You have to be pretty far from Sanitarium Island to not know about Zydrate. Where are you from?"

"Britain. I'm here on holiday." Mag blinked.

"Holiday?" She inquired. "If I may… _Why_ on Sanitarium Island?"

"I've been asking myself that same question from the moment I came here." Mag chuckled at that. She turned and he followed, and they slowly started to walk down the path that, he assumed, would lead them out of the graveyard. "Are you British?" He'd gleaned as much from hearing her speak- she definitely had the accent. Mag nodded.

"My parents and I moved here when I was a child. There was some-" She stopped, hesitated, and then continued, "-unpleasant activity going on around us, and my parents wanted me away from it."

"Unpleasant activity." He repeated. Mag took a deep breath, and for a moment she looked nervous, as though she had said something she should not have.

"Fighting… Murders… That sort of thing." She blinked at him. "We lived in a bad part of town." Her vagueness and the way she avoided his eyes did not escape him.

It was interesting how she'd immediately taken up conversation with a man she'd met no less than five minutes ago in the middle of a graveyard. Most people would have walked off as soon as possible. He'd kept up the conversation once it started, but he hadn't been friendly, really, and that could have been excuse enough to end the exchange and leave. But she hadn't.

"What do you do?" She inquired.

"I'm a professor at a boarding school in Scotland."

"Really? What's the school called?" For a moment, he debated on his answer. If he said 'Hogwarts', without adding on the rest of the school's title, she might leave it at that and never mention it again. She had no way of knowing what type of school it was. But say she tried to read up on it later? She wouldn't find anything, and she might end up thinking him a liar.

In the end, a nagging little voice in his head compelled him to honesty.

"Hogwarts."

Mag stopped. Then she turned to look directly at him, staring again.

"It's a strange name," He said flatly. "I know. I didn't-"

"You teach at Hogwarts?" She whispered. Her eyes, to his surprise, reflected an understanding he hadn't expected. "Then that would mean that you're a…" She trailed off, giving him a meaningful look. He took a deep breath, meeting her gaze unflinchingly.

"Yes. And since you know about the school at all, you must also be…?" Mag nodded very slowly.

"I haven't used…" She lowered her voice, "…_magic_ in years, but I'm still very much a witch."

He wouldn't have put money on the idea that this woman was a witch at first glance. Her sense of style was the only tangible evidence, and even then the people on this island had unusual tastes as far as muggle civilization went.

For once, honesty had worked out spectacularly for him.

...

To say that he felt some relief in finding another member of the magical community would be an understatement, especially considering the muggles he'd been surrounded by for the past two weeks.

However, when Mag said she hadn't used magic in years- She'd meant _years_.

"My parents were muggles, and through the Ministry they hired someone to tutor me in magic even though I couldn't see. As long as I knew the words and the motions, I was fine. They were careful to stay out of the way when I was working, though."

"Just in case you missed and ended up levitating them?"

"Exactly."

Rotti Largo knew Mag was a witch, though she knew that he was not a wizard. He'd caught her using magic shortly before she'd gotten her sight from him, and he'd promised not to tell anyone.

"And while he was there, did I mind hearing a proposal that might make life easier for me?" Mag quipped as she strode across the floor. They were in her apartment, and Mag was cracking open a bottle of wine that looked like it hadn't been touched since she'd bought or received it; the glass was caked in a thin layer of dust.

He couldn't help but note something he'd been wondering about from the moment he'd realized that she was a witch.

"Do you have a wand?" Mag stiffened. She had been on the verge of pouring the wine into the glasses only to have her arm freeze in midair. She was silent for a moment.

"I did." She glanced at him, and the stare she received in turn told her that he was going to ask anyway, so she might as well tell. "Rotti has it. Part of the contract, somewhere within the fine print." Mag took in a deep breath, and a tinge of red appeared in her cheeks. She remembered the bottle that was still in her hand and hastily went about pouring it out. "I swear, the way he quotes the specifics of the contract to me sometimes makes me think that there's fine print _within_ the fine print." She set the bottle down and brought the glasses over, handing him one.

"Exactly how binding is this contract of yours?" He nodded in thanks as she sat down next to him on the sofa.

"Binding enough to choke." Mag paused, adjusting the grip on her glass. "I'm contracted for life."

"Contracted to do what?"

"Sing. Promote GeneCo's services. Basically whatever Rotti wants me to do."

"If the contract is so suffocating, why did you sign it?" Mag smiled without humor. Her eyes shone with misery.

"I was blind when I did it. My best friend was dating Rotti, and she vouched for him." He had been about to make a remark to the effect of 'Some friend she was', but held back when he saw something- pain?- dart through the melancholy pools of Mag's eyes.

"She must regret that now." She smiled wanly at him.

"She died." Thank _Merlin_ he hadn't remarked about the woman's bad call. There was a slightly awkward silence between them. He broke it before it could progress into a full-blown awkward silence.

"What happens if you break the contract?" Mag paused tapping her glass with her forefinger, searching for the right words.

"It's not an easy contract to break. Not for me, anyway. The only way I could would be if I retired, or otherwise refused to promote GeneCo anymore." Her eyes flickered. "Were I to break it, my eyes would be subject to repossession."

His eyes narrowed fractionally. "Repossession." He reiterated. Mag grimaced.

"A Repoman would come and cut them out of my head."

Silence.

Not awkward, but shocked. He'd heard of 'repossessions', but had never quite gotten the concept.

"You're telling me," He said slowly, softly, "That in this country, legalized _murderers_ can go around cutting out the organs of those who've not paid for them."

"Oh no, not murderers. _Assassins_. That's what Rotti calls them. He says it sounds more _dignified_. I'm sure it sounds very dignified to someone whose liver's being ripped out." She downed the rest of the wine in her nearly-full glass in one shot, and a theory on why she didn't seem to be such a big drinker rose to mind. Clearly this was something she'd given thought to. Clearly this was something she hated.  
Also clear was the fact that she was tied up so tightly by Rotti that there was little she could do about it.

What had been that statistic the reporter had mentioned? Forty had gotten the same surgery as Mag and had their eyes repossessed, with seventeen bleeding to death where they'd lain?

He couldn't stop his mind from suddenly conjuring up a picture of Mag, just as she was now, only with her eyes gouged out of her head.

He shivered.

Then something occurred to him that should have earlier.

"Would you be in violation of your contract by inviting me in?" Mag gave that some thought, then stood up and walked back over to the counter to refill her glass.

"I don't know. But I've no desire to find out."

...

I'm actually working on three different continuities as far as this pairing goes: There's this one, that falls in with the Repo! storyline, one where Mag just goes to Hogwarts and becomes a teacher, and then I'm working on a- I'm thinking- trilogy of long one-shots where Mag is actually part of the Harry Potter storyline (i.e. went to Hogwarts and pursued a witch-ly life).


	2. Chapter 2

In three days time, Mag told him, there would be a Fourth of July celebration on the waterfront, hosted by GeneCo. They could meet there, if he wanted; once the opener for the night was done, she was free to get lost in the crowd and mingle (With her guards no less than ten feet away at all times). If Rotti asked, she could always say that he was an old friend from her school days.

He could tell, in spite of her expert poker face, that Mag was silently savoring the idea of keeping a secret, however innocent, from Rotti Largo. It would probably be the only secret she'd ever kept from him, seeing as how the secret of her magic wasn't so secret anymore.

He liked Mag.

If asked, he wouldn't be able to name any one thing in particular about her that drew his attention. Was it her intelligence? Oh yes. She was clever, far more so than the idiots she so often seemed to be surrounded by. Was it her wit? She had a dry sense of humor, just like him. Warped by years of loneliness, her smile was often little more than a smirk, not unlike his own.

Was it because in spite of their more obvious differences (Her lack of total bitterness and shyness, and her generally pleasant attitude), he could see that they were very much alike?

That was the one that probably hit home the most.

...

He hated crowds.

The one at the Sanitarium Waterfront was thick, noisy and, from what he could hear, almost totally drunk. Almost the entire crowd was made up of young people (Though he was now thirty, in his own mind he hadn't qualified as _young_ since graduating from Hogwarts) in scantily-clad outfits and too many ridiculous piercings and tattoos to keep track of.

He could feel his lip curling in disgust right up until he spotted Mag coming up to the platform with Rotti Largo. He'd caught sight of her before the rest of the crowd did, and noticed that her face was completely blank until Rotti tapped the microphone. As soon as he started to speak, that sweet, endearing, utterly false smile appeared from cheek to cheek.

"224 years ago," Rotti boomed with a wide, winning smile on his sagging face, "Our forefathers set about securing the independence for the fine citizens of what would be the United States of America. Today, we gather here to honor their efforts and celebrate their success!" Applause followed.

"Our fine government was made by the people and for the people. We decide the laws, and we decide how our lives are to be led. On behalf of GeneCo- Yes, you knew I'd throw in some advertisement here- let me ask you all to do your part in running this country well, and vote NO on Prop 598, and keep the repossessions legal!"

The crowd clapped and cheered with gusto, and he felt much like he might throw up. Rotti was a total sleazebag, but he was, unfortunately, also an articulate sleazebag. He knew how to win a crowd. Of course, looking around, this particular brand of the average idiot might not have been so hard to sway.

Did any of them realize the danger they were in? Probably not. To them, only idiots and losers who couldn't keep up on their payments got organs repossessed. But did any of them realize that they were only a slip-up away from joining the who-knew-how-many others that had died in repossessions?

The next act, however, soothed his irritation quite a bit. Mag sang a rather beautiful rendition of the national anthem, which was received even more enthusiastically than Rotti's patriotic speech. He had heard snatches of her songs before- they were unavoidable, seeing as how she was the face and voice of GeneCo and GeneCo ran this entire damn island. But this was the first time he'd heard her sing completely.

She had an amazing voice.

So amazing that by the time he'd snapped out of it, the crowd had dissolved to mingle, and he'd lost sight of Mag. Music started blaring, whoops and hollers of excitement went up, and everyone started pushing and shoving to get where they were supposed to be. _Merlin_ did he hate crowds.

He ended up finding Mag quite on accident. Off to his right, he'd heard an unusually loud and violent commotion starting up, the kind of noise that carried above the rest, and so he went to investigate. It had taken him maybe a minute and a half to break through the lines of people and see one of the more ludicrous things he'd seen in his life.

Luigi Largo was currently straddling a young man on the ground. Largo looked furious. The man beneath him- he seemed to be a waiter, an attendant of some sort- looked terrified.

Luigi Largo, he knew, had a nasty habit of assaulting people; more often than not, he used a rather large knife. Tonight, however, it seemed that Rotti Largo had tried to cut back on the embarrassment his eldest child tended to incite and made Luigi leave the knife at home, or otherwise confiscated it, because the eldest Largo child was currently beating this attendant over the head with a particularly long baguette.

Of course, it was entirely possible that he _did_ have the knife and, in his rage, happened to grab the nearest thing at hand.

"_MUSTARD? WHO PUTS **MUSTARD** ON PEPPERONI? ARE YOU FUCKING BRAIN-DEAD? ARE YOU FUCKING **STUPID**? WHAT THE **FUCK** IS WRONG WITH YOU, YOU FUCKING IDIOT!_"

Given that this instance was lacking Luigi's typically fatally destructive nature, more people were laughing than trying to help the poor man. It was, perhaps, an indicator of something that Mag was the first and only to try and stop the attack.

"Luigi!" For the first time since he'd seen her, she actually looked cross. The look reminded him oddly of one Minerva McGonagall tended to adopt when she was scolding students for casting nasty but harmless spells on one another. Luigi had been raising the baguette up on high before bringing it back down on his hapless victim, and Mag caught it as it hovered over his head.

"What the-?" She seized his moment of confusion and ripped the bread out of his hands, tossing it off to the side.

"Get off him, Luigi!" She would make an excellent teacher. She had a rather intimidating tone of authority. The brunette stared up at her as he regained his senses. The stare soon turned to a glare.

"Mind your own business, bitch!" Luigi snarled, swatting at her. There was no real force behind the blow; violent though he was, there were no words to describe the hell that he would catch if he hurt Mag.

"Do I need to get your father?" She hissed. Luigi sobered up immediately and climbed off the assistant, who half-whimpered, half-sobbed and dashed off into the crowd, trying to put as much distance between the two of them as possible.

Luigi looked sorely tempted to say something awful to Mag, or maybe to try and scare her, but that wouldn't work, and he knew it. Instead, he offered her one last frigid look before storming off, scattering the crowd in their haste to get out of his way.

Mag ran a hand through her hair, a momentarily world-weary look in her eyes. She looked tired, but lovely; her dress was red and blue-striped, and sprinkled with tiny white stars for the occasion. White, sparkly powder had been spread around her eyes, forehead and cheeks, and her hair had been straightened, laying flat over her back while clipped back with an ornate hairpin in the shape of the American flag.

She finally caught sight of him and smiled a genuine smile. As she moved to approach him, however, she stopped, looked to her left, did a double take and then froze. Before he could register the odd behavior, Mag broke into a wider, cheesy smile and allowed her eyes to twinkle happily at him.

"Severus! Is that you?" She said it a little louder than necessary, moving forward and giving him a gentle hug around the shoulders. Alarmed at the sudden contact, he pushed her back and stared at her questioningly. Her smile never faltered. "Don't you recognize me? It's Magdalene, from school?"  
She met his eyes, then glanced sharply to the left again before looking back. He chanced a glance in the same direction and saw the cause of Mag's sudden change in behavior; the heads of Rotti Largo's two tall henchwomen were visible over the heads of the nearest people, very close by and moving closer. And in front of them, just in sight, was their boss, heading straight for him and Mag.

He quickly looked back. "Magdalene. It's been too long." He played along. "How have you been?"

"Oh, I've been-" He was spared from a rehearsed answer when Rotti finally got to them, smiling that smile that he was growing to hate so much.

"Mag! There you are, I've been looking for you." Rotti stopped and finally noticed that Mag had actually been conversing with someone that he didn't know. At his inquiring glance, Mag smiled.

Maybe it was his talent at legilimency, or maybe it was because he'd stalked Mag for two weeks, but he found that he was quickly learning the different nuances of her smile; the happy, sad, tense, fake and real. It seemed to be a talent unique to him alone, given how everyone seemed to have the impression that Mag was quite pleased to work for GeneCo and Rotti.

Right now, her smile was genuine, but with a shade of nervousness. Could she deceive Rotti, who probably knew her well enough to know when she was lying to him? That would depend, he realized, on how often she tried to lie to him. To him, it seemed like a relatively futile effort, given how deeply entwined into that contract she was.

"Rotti," She said delicately, glancing between the two men, "This is Severus, an old friend from primary school." Rotti directed what he must have thought was a winning and friendly smile at the new man.

"Really! That's lovely. I'm surprised you recognized him, Mag- I could have sworn that you were blind as a child. And voices certainly change over the years." He could almost her Mag's heart stop beating in her terror.

However, a second later, she surprised him with that keen intellect once more. "I found myself nostalgic a few months ago, and decided to look up all of the old schoolmates I could remember online. I found his picture there."

While he was unfamiliar with the muggle contraption known as the 'internet', even he knew that the answer sounded a little convenient. Rotti, however, seemed to buy it, nodding.

"Well! Any friend of Mag is a friend of mine. Do enjoy the evening!" He motioned to his henchwomen, and the three of them walked off. If they had suspicions of their own, they kept their mouths shut and their expressions blank.

Mag let out a slow sigh of relief, eyes sliding shut. "God."

"You really think he bought it?"

"I think so. All the same, we shouldn't let him see us together again after tonight."

"I can do that. I've no desire to see him after tonight either." Mag sighed and stared longingly up at him.

"What I wouldn't give to be rid of him." She'd mumbled it so quietly he had to think a moment to work out what she'd said. Once he did, he realized that it might be best to direct themselves away from any and all Largo-based territories, both physically and mentally.

"Is there someplace quieter we can move to?" Along with wanting to get away from the Largos, he'd already been jostled enough tonight to heighten his temper. If he didn't get away from said crowd soon, he'd become irreversibly unpleasant, and he would like to avoid offending the first woman he'd spoken on friendly terms with in years.

Mag motioned to him with a finger and set off through the crowd. For a celebrity of her status, she went widely unnoticed by those they passed, having to throw on a smile only once or twice to those who recognized her.

She led him to a narrow, concrete staircase that led down to a walkway that overlooked the ocean- though he couldn't honestly imagine a person who'd want to look at this particular view. The water ahead of them was littered with the crumbling remains of what once must have been a series of stone structures, most likely buildings. Really- You were only supposed to see ruins in ancient countries.

Mag went ahead of him, heels clicking on the steps and dress dragging slightly behind, forcing him to watch his step as he followed. It was only when she reached the walkway and looked back up towards him that she frowned.

"We're not going anywhere."

"What?"

"Not you." He stopped on the last stair and turned to look behind him. On the top step was one of Mag's bodyguards. He couldn't see her face, the lower half covered in a black cloth mask; he only assumed she was female because of the tall, white, Marie Antoinette-reminiscent wig she wore, as well as the long cloak that obscured her body from the neck down.

The guard didn't speak. Instead, she pumped the rifle in her arms and glared at him. He glared right back until Mag grabbed his shoulder and pulled him off the steps to stand next to her. "We're not going anywhere. Stay up there and watch from a distance if you like, but you're _not_ eavesdropping in on our conversation."

For a moment, the guard didn't move. It was a silent battle of wills, and Mag seemed to be on the stronger side, even if her opponent had a gun and a license to shoot it. Eventually, the guard shuffled out of sight, though he had no doubt that she was somewhere nearby. He sniffed. "Is she a good shot?"

Mag gave a wry smile. "Oh yes. Ever had a chaperone like that on a date before?"

Date. Interesting choice of noun.

"I wouldn't know. I've never really been the dating type."

In retrospect, not the best statement on his part.

"How many women have you been with before?"

… Because she _would_ have to ask that inevitable question. He took a slow, deep breath, torn between answering honestly and staying as far away from a certain subject as humanly possible for as long as humanly possible.

"Physically or emotionally?"

"Both." He sniffed.

"Never both. Two of the three were strictly physical." The two physical encounters with women in the past had been purely mechanical, purely for the sake of sex. He didn't dwell on them, and indeed they only served as evidence that he was no longer a virgin.

Mag stared at him with those large, icy blue eyes, and he looked away and leaned on the railing that overlooked the ocean, knowing without a doubt what she was going to ask next.

"And what about the one you were emotionally invested in?" He stared down at the waves and didn't respond for a minute or so.

"Nothing came of it. We fought and went our separate ways. She married. Had a child." He couldn't avoid the bitter tone that crept into his voice. He could almost feel the pity from Mag's stare. And he definitely felt her hand on his back a second later.

"Do you still see her?" His heart seemed to tighten sharply at this.

"She'll have been dead nine years ago this October." Her hand started to move up and down along his back.

"I'm sorry." He shrugged in a belated attempt to appear indifferent. Where had his strong veneer of neutrality gone? Mag had plowed through it like a rhino through decorative tissue paper (And somehow comparing a woman like her to a rhino seemed sacrilegious). And the scary thing was, he wasn't certain how he was supposed to feel about her ability to bring down that surface layer.

"And how many men have you been with?" Mag gave a wry laugh.

"That would be a resounding 'none'. I was blind before my contract with Rotti, and the only boys who were interested in me were the ones that thought they'd be able to get away with tricking me into grabbing parts of their anatomy without realizing what I was doing. Marni was always careful to keep them away."

"Marni?" Now it was Mag's turn to look away whilst trying to guard her emotions.

"An old friend." Ah- he remembered.

"Rotti's lover? The one that died?"

"Yes. In childbirth. Also nine years ago. Not with Rotti- She left him and married a man named Nathan Wallace." She folded her arms over her stomach and stared down at them, determined not to meet his eyes. "She was like a sister to me. I was supposed to be the godmother to her child, but… She- the baby, Shilo- died too. I haven't spoken to her husband, Nathan, in years." She shrugged. "Which means any old friends I ever had are gone now. Thanks to Rotti."

And he thought he was lonely. He wouldn't exactly call them _friends_, but at least his fellow Hogwarts Professors were… friend_ly_. All Mag had were the Largos and any sympathetic seamstresses, assistants, secretaries or GenTerns- the ones that had the courage to speak to her, at any rate. And even then, what could they say when she was surrounded by Rotti and his men?

But here was another point of similarity, one that drew him to her; she too knew the keen sting of significant loss. Many others he'd met had known that sting as well, but Mag's personality, along with that fact, was what endeared her further to him.

"What do you think of me?" She asked curiously, tilting her head to the side as she stood next to him at the railing. The unspoken question seemed to be, _Do you think I'm as bad as Rotti?_ _Am I bad for working for him?_ She must not have seen him that night when she'd faced off with that reporter.

He shifted uncomfortably. He wasn't good with deep questions- probably because no one, save Dumbledore, bothered to ask him them. Should he go with all-out honesty, or should he maybe tone down exactly how fond of her he was becoming?

"I find you to be extremely attractive, intelligent and kind. I believe you judge yourself much too harshly to make up for a reality you're not certain on how to deal with. I think you're abusing yourself for the guilt you feel about your situation, and that whether you know it or not, no amount of punishment will be enough to satisfy that sense of guilt." He took a deep breath. "I also love it when you sing."

All out it is, then.

Mag had a strong suspicion that she was seeing a side of him that was rarely, if ever, displayed, and wondered just how deeply he buried it when around others. She stared at him with a sort of sad hope. "You mean that?"

His eyes narrowed. "Do I look like the sort that waxes poetic to women for the hell of it?" She laughed. "And what, if I may, do you think of me?"

Mag thought for a moment. "I think… That you are also attractive, intelligent… And quite a bit kinder than you let on. You have a tendency to get snippy when you think that someone's coming a little too close to your more sensitive side. I think you're very good at hiding what you really think and feel, and prefer to make sure that no one gets a good look at either of those things." She smiled. "I also love your dry sense of humor." He smirked.

They were very close. Their arms were pressing together.

He suddenly felt a surge of awkwardness, the kind he'd always had around pretty girls (Like the term gave her justice) that had never quite died.

"How old are you?"

For a moment, he cringed inwardly, realizing that he'd broken a major rule in dealing with women: Never ask their age. Mag, however, did not seem bothered by the question at all. Bearing in mind, every year she lived threatened by the Repoman was a memorable one, so maybe she had a different view on aging.

She smiled. "Tomorrow's my birthday. I'll be twenty-nine. You?"

"Thirty as of last January." He paused. "I'll drop in to celebrate with you, if you'd like." Mag almost glowed at that sentence. She opened her mouth to speak, but then, just as quickly, snapped it shut and turned her face away; but not before he saw a blush spreading over her cheeks.

"Hm?" He prompted her.

"I… It's just… No one's done that since Marni died. And we haven't even known each other that long." He sniffed and shrugged, trying to appear indifferent.

"I like you." He hazarded a quick look to his left and found himself stuck there, eyes trained on her face. She was still smiling.

"And I like you."

They were so, _so_ close. Very close. Leaning towards each other. He could smell her hair. And then, then that complex of his kicked in with a vengeance, ruining the moment- Or so he thought. "Your guard is probably watching." He whispered. Mag smirked, settling her hands on his shoulders.

"Let her."

And they kissed.

It was the first enjoyable kiss he'd ever had. He'd never kissed Lily, never even came close. There hadn't been much kissing with the other two- recall; it'd been purely for the sex. He was careful to keep his hands on her back and stray no lower, though he did pull her closer as it deepened.

It was all a bit insane, really: He'd followed her around for two weeks, met her by chance in person in a graveyard, liked her _immediately_, went back to her apartment and talked, met up with her at a festival and now they were _making out?_ This couldn't be right. More often than not, fate and luck had a habit of spitting in his eye and kicking him in the ass, so _why_ was this going so well? Maybe he was only meant to have lucky days once every decade or so.

Of course, it would _completely_ destroy the laws of the universe if that luck lasted.

"_Mag!_ _Where the fuck are you?_"

They pulled apart sharply when they heard the screech. Looking around, they saw that no one had spotted them yet, but Mag gave a soft sigh-groan and let her head fall forward onto his shoulder.

"That would be Amber."

He fingered his wand in his jacket pocket. "I could wipe her memory. Make her forget why she's looking for you." His eyes were narrowed unpleasantly. Whether she knew it or not, he was serious. She swatted his arm gently and pulled back, straightening out her dress.

"Aren't there laws about hexing muggles?" He sniffed.

"No one would ever have to know." She smiled sadly.

"No thank you. Rotti would take it as a blaring alarm if his daughter ended up cursed on the one night that Blind Mag _actually_ had a friend around." Mag started for the stairs. "Are you coming?" He shook his head.

"I think not. I have the feeling you'll be detained for the remainder of the evening." He tried to pretend he didn't see the disappointment in her eyes as he said that. For once, he actually knew how to rid someone of such a look. "What time would you like me to be at your apartment tomorrow?"

Mag broke into a wide, sincere smile, and he was suddenly pleased that he'd finally buckled to Dumbledore's nagging and taken a vacation.

...

Every night for the next three and a half weeks, he came to her apartment, and they talked. Sometimes they kissed. Sometimes they went a touch further than that, but never all the way. Mostly, they both privately reveled in the fact that they'd found a person to be physically and emotionally close to without feeling the instinctive urge to push them as far away as possible.

As their time together progressed, they started telling each other about the deeper, more _sensitive _issues; the kind they threw into a trunk, padlocked, drove to the nearest cliff and threw off.

Namely: Lily and Marni.

It was his last night in Sanitarium. In the initial phases of these two particular discussions, both participants knew the bare facts- Well, Mag knew a bit more than the 'bare' facts; He had never told anyone, save Dumbledore, that he'd been in love (his wording with Mag had been 'emotionally involved') with Lily.

Going in depth about Lily basically meant relating the dirtier details of how'd they'd met and why, exactly, they'd "gone their separate ways". He'd be lying if he'd claimed he wasn't nervous about elaborating on the precise event that had driven Lily away for good; This was the sort of story that garnered negative reactions.

But when he finally told Mag what he'd said, when he'd made the third biggest mistake he'd made thus far in his life, Mag merely stared at him with one of her more unreadable expressions and idly toyed with the fabric of her skirt (Though never breaking eye-contact with him).

"Why did you do that?" She inquired. And damn her, her tone was just as unreadable as her eyes. He'd just been starting to pride himself on being able to read her pretty well, and then she had to pull out that.

Knowing that he might, for once, not be able to manage an equally inscrutable expression, he kept his gaze locked on the coffee table in front of him, tracing the patterns on the wood with his eyes. "I don't know. Too many years in Slytherin House mixed with horrified embarrassment for the situation and how, exactly, I was 'rescued' from it- It's not a day I tend to linger on for too long."

_It hurts too much_.

The story only got worse after that: He'd joined up with the Death Eaters the next year through Bellatrix Black and Lucius Malfoy (Biggest mistake in life number two), and then, when he was twenty, unwittingly signed Lily's death warrant by overhearing and relating the details of Trelawney's prophecy to Voldemort (Winner of the Biggest Mistake Ever Made contest, hands down).

But to his relief (and shock) Mag was decidedly unaffected by this information. At least, as far as he could tell; she had an excellent poker face. "I'm sorry- Does this _bother_ you at all? I just told you about the three most idiotically destructive things I've ever done, and you don't look concerned at all."

Mag drummed her fingers on her knee. "You made some mistakes. You've obviously learned from them, and you've most certainly paid dearly for making them. My heart aches for you, Severus, really." He stared at her for the longest time. She was sincere; and even though he hadn't expected any sarcasm from her, he was surprised that none was there at all. She really did sympathize.

Then came Mag's story about her and Marni. Mag gave a gentle shrug, having put up her guard a little stronger this time. "It's not as ugly as your story; Marni died a close friend, and we never had a falling out like yours and Lily's." It sounded so odd to hear her say Lily's name, to hear her acknowledge Lily's existence to him; he'd never spoken about Lily to anyone but Dumbledore before.

"I can, however, sympathize on another aspect." He waited for her to go on, but she didn't, instead picking up her glass and taking a sip of her drink. He thought she was pausing as she tried to piece together the rest of her story, but all she did was give him a little side glance before fixing her gaze on the window.

It clicked.

Or rather, it hit him like the hoof of a rampaging hippogriff.

"You and Marni…?" Mag shook her head.

"Me. Not Marni. We were never romantically involved, but I can't deny I wanted it." She met his eyes. "I watched her fall in love with Rotti, and hoped that she would eventually grow tired of him and be with me. Then she fell in love with Nathan and, as badly as it hurt to see her with him, I loved her- and him, for that matter- too much to wish them ill. Especially after Rotti." She shuddered.

He was still reeling from this information. "But you…" Mag's lips twitched upward spasmodically.

"Surprised? Obviously I'm not a lesbian-" She allowed herself a smirk that could be interpreted as lewd. "-but I'm not at all closed to the idea of a relationship with a woman."

He blinked, and she giggled at this new expression. Getting him to show emotion was a kick. "Does it bother you?" He shook his head a little more vigorously than was necessary.

"No." Honestly, he was trying to decide which he was leaning more towards: Arousal or disgust.

Mag made sure that she had that face he was wearing remembered thoroughly. She could replay it to him a while from now and irritate him. "Ten years ago, Marni left Rotti at the altar; he was furious. You had better believe that the tabloids were all over it. 'Head of GeneCo Snubbed By Future Bride', 'Rotti Largo, Savior, Dumped By Daring Dame'." Mag chuckled. "That one was my favorite."

"Remind me: Did you have your eyes then?"

"Yes. I'd had them for… Hm. Not long. A month, maybe? Definitely before Marni left Rotti. I don't think he would have hesitated to cancel the surgery if it had happened after the fact." Mag's face darkened. "A month later, he was fine. Completely forgiving. Said that Marni and Nathan were so sweet with one another he knew he'd get over his own pain."

"Did he?" Mag shrugged.

"I don't know. He doesn't talk about Marni, and I'm not stupid enough to bring it up. I'd much prefer that he wasn't associated with my memory of her at all, frankly." She paused to take another drink.

"And Marni died a year later?" Mag tapped her finger on the side of her glass.

"Roughly. She married Nathan, and a month later she told me she was pregnant. Roughly nine months later…" Mag paused, eyes misting slightly. "… She died. Nathan said that she'd been sick, and one morning she just…" Her eyes darkened with despondence as she was dragged back to those unbearable times.

Really, maybe they should have covered all of this at an earlier time; there were leaving this at a rather depressing note, until he (hopefully) came back next summer for another visit. In the meantime, they'd have to make do with letters.

"I'll be leaving tomorrow."  
She'd known that because she'd asked, about a week and a half previously, about when exactly it was that he would be required to return to Britain. He would spend the rest of August at the castle, getting ready for the new term and settling back into the quiet of summer at Hogwarts before the brats arrived.

He leaned over and kissed her, hoping to distract and maybe bring her around to a slightly more cheerful frame of mind. She smiled into it and curled her arms around his neck, pulling him down to lie half on top of her.

He shivered. In his mind, he had been constantly making comparisons with Lily, wondering if it would have been this nice to kiss her, to hold her, to be able to express his love for her physically; but now he found that the automatic comparisons were dying down. Lily was coming to mind less and less often when he got that familiar pang of extreme affection on his chest.

He sighed. Damn it all, he just wasn't good with sentiment.

"Perhaps," He mumbled after pulling back, "I should be getting back to the hotel." Mag's expression was collected, but he could see a twinkle of unmistakable mischief in her eyes.

"You needn't go so quickly. I'd like to give you a proper… Sending off, so to speak." He raised an eyebrow at this, but she offered no verbal explanation.

Instead, she slid out from under him, stood up, strode over to her bedroom door and pushed it open. She stood in the doorway and tilted her head to the side.

_Well?_

He stared at her for what seemed like an eternity. Then, slowly, he rose from his seat and followed her inside.  
And what a way to say goodbye it was.

...

You may have noticed a slight detail change in this chapter: This story takes place in 2000, one year before Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. I bumped the story line ahead by ten years: Harry was born in 1990, which would mean that Snape would have been born in 1970 (Along with Lily and James).


	3. Chapter 3

...

Postal Interlude

...

September 1st, 2000

_Mag-_

_I took the precaution of charming this owl so that it would be undetectable by muggles. Unless the Largos or any of their employees are also secretly witches and wizards, no one will see it but you. I'll continue to do this in the future. _

_Has anything of particular interest happened since I left?_

_-SS_

_..._

September 3rd

_Severus-_

_It's been so long since I've communicated by owl. And even then, I had to dictate the letters to my parents. _

_Good thinking with that charm- you may have saved my neck. Rotti came up to visit, and the owl came during his stay. It landed on the window ledge and started tapping at the glass, and I was relieved when I realized he couldn't see it. _

_Nothing of overt interest, no. I had a show last night. No hecklers, thankfully. And Luigi didn't stab anyone._

_Has term started yet? _

_-MD_

_..._

September 5th

_Mag-_

_Yes, it has. _

_-SS_

_..._

September 7th

_Severus-_

_I take it things have not gone well? _

_-Mag_

_..._

September 10th

_Mag-_

_They have not. I have never, in my nine years of teaching at this school, run into such a compendium of moronic, dense, ludicrous, bothersome, insipid little brats whose only grasp on magic is waving around a wand and saying some strange-sounding words and hoping that they'll get the desired effect. _

_In the three class periods I've had with these first years, there have been five explosions, two melted cauldrons, three fist-fights and an endless slew of idiotic questions, the likes of which make me wonder if I might have been better off jumping off a bridge rather than taking this job. _

_To put you in perspective, imagine a class with seven Luigis, ten Ambers and four Pavis. And now imagine trying to teach them the subtle art of potion brewing. Suffice to say, their blunders have brought shame to the title of wizard. _

_How have you been?_

_-SS_

_..._

September 20th

_Severus-_

_Apologies for the late reply; Rotti's been breathing down my neck lately, running me ragged. Though, I suppose I can't complain, given the content of your previous letter. I mean, really- The first years are your school are only eleven, aren't they? They can't be expected to be perfect. _

_And really, Severus, comparing them to the Largo children is a dire insult that not even the Dark Lord Voldemort deserves. _

_I've been fine. _

_-MD_

_..._

September 24th

_Mag-_

_Don't say that name. _

_And until you've had the utter misery of teaching these same students, do not tell me that they 'can't be that bad'. If it's not the first year students making routine mistakes, it's those Weasley twins pulling some inane, childish prank on the students or staff alike. If they weren't so good at hiding their involvement in their handy work, they'd have been expelled last year. _

_-SS_

_..._

September 28th

_Severus-_

_Sorry. I won't do it again. Though in all fairness, I **wrote** it. _

_What sort of pranks, exactly, do these boys pull? And if there's no evidence of their handy work, how do you know that they're the culprits?_

_-MD_

_..._

October 2nd

_Mag-_

_Was that supposed to be a joke?_

_You don't want to know. _

_-SS_

_..._

October 7th

_Severus-_

_No, it was supposed to be the truth. _

_And I do want to know._

_-MD_

_..._

October 9th

_Mag-_

_All right then, you've asked for it. _

_Do you remember, from your childhood, what a blast-ended skrewt is? _

_If you don't, allow me to enlighten you. _

_They are, without a doubt, the ugliest magically-oriented creatures alive, and quite possibly one of the more dangerous. They're also currently the creatures studied by the N.E.W.T Care of Magical Creatures students. You would think after being put on probation over a dozen times Kettleburn would think twice about the creatures he hauls onto the school grounds. _

_You can glean from their name that the skrewts, in fact, **blast** fire from their… Ends. This has resulted in many a hospital trip for many a student in Kettleburn's N.E.W.T class. _

_So, imagine for a moment what happens when one puts a mild engorgement charm on them and sets them loose into a particularly large castle, much of which is constructed in **wood **as well as stone?_

_And of course, what sort of prank would it be if it ended there? **Someone** decided that, to **enhance** the prank, using a glisseo charm on several floors of the castle would be beneficial to helping the skrewts get around. You come walking down a hall and turn a corner only to get bowled over by a glorified scorpion-fire-monster shooting fire everywhere, catching tapestries on fire… _

_Now think for a moment about who had to pick up after the little brats, and you will fully understand why I hate discussing it. _

_-SS_

...

October 15th

_Severus-_

_'Blast-Ended Skrewt' does ring something of a bell. I'm reasonably certain I've never dealt with one before. If you dislike dealing with the **brats** so much, then why are you a teacher? No one forced you into the occupation. _

_-MD_

_..._

October 20th

_Mag-_

_Why is it that we're only talking about my issues? Why don't we focus on **yours** for a moment or two?_

_-SS_

_..._

October 23rd

_Severus-_

_I'm not stupid. I can see you changing the subject. **Did** someone force you to become a teacher? _

_-MD_

_..._

October 26th

_Mag-_

_I don't want to talk about my life anymore. I want to talk about yours._

_-SS_

_..._

October 30th

_Severus-_

_Do you have any idea how **whiny** that sounds? Even on paper? Are you thirty or three?_

_-MD_

_..._

November 7th

_Mag-_

_I refuse to dignify that with an answer. _

_-SS  
__  
_

_..._

November 11th

_Severus-_

_It took you eight days to come up with that witty retort? Remember that the owl has at least a two-day flight, so try to put some **substance** in your letters. _

_-MD_

_..._

November 15th

_Mag-_

_Hark who's talking- You've been sending letters that are just as short as mine. And for your information, Halloween was a nightmare, and I can't say I was in a mood to write afterwards. Before you even **ask** what happened, allow me to save you the trouble and just say that the resident poltergeist had a great deal of fun with about a dozen bags of rather large tarantulas. I'd like to blame the Weasley twins, but they didn't look too pleased when the pests started crawling on them. _

_Start complaining about your life. Wasn't it you that said I was starting to sound whiny?_

_-SS_

_..._

November 18th

_Severus-_

_Well, a very happy Halloween to you. And I said you were starting to sound whiny only when you started trying to get me to complain about life here. I **haven't** complained because it's all the same, really- I eat, I sleep, I sing, I write to you. And in between, Pavi steals peoples' faces, Amber acts like the little zydrate whore that she is, and Luigi attacks people with whatever happens to be on hand. Remember that I never really bother to leave my apartment otherwise. Where would I go?_

_-MD_

_..._

November 23rd

_Mag-_

_"Zydrate whore"? I don't think I've heard you say, or write, that word before. Amber is addicted to zydrate? _

_-SS_

_..._

November 26th

_Severus-_

_Is she addicted? That's like asking if a fish drinks, or a cat meows, or a dog wags its tail. She's a complete junkie! And all the while, she puts on this sweet (no pun intended) little front and manages the Zydrate Support Network, geared towards helping scalpel-sluts kick the habit. The girl infuriates me. When she's not high enough to be completely out of it, she's mean as a snake._

_-MD_

_..._

November 29th

_Mag-_

_I've heard that word- 'scalpel-slut'- before. What, in the name of all things holy, does that mean? And further more, when you say that Amber can become 'as mean as a snake', exactly who does she direct that aggression to?_

_-SS_

_..._

December 2nd

_Severus-_

_A scalpel-slut is someone who's become addicted to surgery (and therefore, zydrate, used to numb any surgeries done by GeneCo). I suppose you can be addicted to zydrate and not be addicted to surgery (and vice-versa), but the two usually seem to go hand in hand. _

_Anyone in the vicinity. _

_-MD_

_..._

December 6th

_Mag-_

_The silent add-on being 'more often than not, me'. To quote you, "I'm not stupid". She seemed to behave particularly aggressive towards you whenever I had the misfortune of seeing her. Is there a specific reason for it?_

_-SS_

_..._

December 10th

_Severus-_

_When do we get to talk about your problems again? Surely your students have caused you some grief since we last spoke about them. And yes, if you must know, she **does** get a little more… **Belligerent** towards myself than anyone else. I'm contracted to GeneCo and her father, and he pampers his little princess, so what can I do?_

_-MD_

_..._

December 16th

_Mag-_

_To start: Have you ever noticed that you're far more sarcastic in writing than you are in person? Don't misunderstand, I find it quite endearing. Try to let it bleed into your speech as well. Second: "Belligerent" is an understatement. When she found us at the festival, I thought she was going to pull a baguette on you. And third: You could always take the muggle route and just slap her. _

_-SS_

_..._

December 24th

_Severus- _

_I do hope this gets there in time; we've been getting hit with a lot of snow lately. Merry Christmas. _

_As for your letter: No, I've never noticed, as you're the first person in ten years that I've written my candid feelings to. For the record, the worst Amber's ever done is grab my arm too hard. All three of them know they'll catch hell if they physically hurt me. I may not be one of his children, but Rotti can certainly appreciate the fact that I don't blow his money on unnecessary surgeries, and he doesn't want to spend that unused money repairing whatever damage his psychotic progeny do to me. _

_And no, Severus, I could not slap her; my mother raised me to be a lady, and ladies don't slap. _

_She's also, you might recall, high on zydrate on any given day, and so she probably wouldn't feel anything if I did. _

_-MD_

_..._

December 25th

_Mag-_

_Your package came on Christmas Eve. Mine, most likely, won't be as lucky. I sent it out yesterday morning. Thank you for the watch. _

_You failed to answer the question of Amber's motive in her hatred for you. As vapid a creature as she seems to be, pointless rage seems to be the trait Luigi inherited. _

_-SS_

_..._

December 28th

_Severus-_

_Your package came about midday on Christmas. Thank you for the necklace- it's beautiful. _

_As for Amber- always such a cheerful holiday subject- don't underestimate her. She's a sneaky, conniving, manipulative little minx who knows exactly how to get everything she wants whenever she wants it. Never let her deceive you into thinking she's some sort of mindless bimbo- that's how she does most people in. _

_Her motive, however, is transparent enough. **She** wants to be the voice of GeneCo. She wants to be the one in the spotlight, to be the one who sings and gets the fame and the glory. By all means, she can take it. I certainly don't want it._

_-MD_

...

January 1st, 1991

_Mag-_

_I fail to see how this works. Amber Sweet is Rotti Largo's daughter. His only daughter. And given that her two older brothers have between them a violent temper and a tendency towards slicing peoples' faces off and wearing them for his own, she's actually the- I use this word loosely- **normal** one of the bunch, barring her addiction to zydrate and surgery, as well as her excessive promiscuity. _

_So **why** hasn't she gotten her wish?_

_-SS_

...

January 4th

_Severus-_

_Happy New Year._

_And you know the frightening thing is, when you compare her to Pavi and Luigi like that, she **is** the normal one. It's an earth-shattering concept, really. _

_She **has** gotten her wish in the past. Rotti's been paying for vocal training for her since she was six years old. When she and Rotti were dating, Marni used to coach her from time to time. When she was about fifteen, Rotti finally agreed to let her open for one of my shows. _

_Now, honestly, I think the only reason she wasn't booed offstage was because no one wanted to incur Rotti's wrath for laughing at his little girl. Of course, after the show, the usual chain of gossip made its way back to the Largos and Rotti resolved to get her a better tutor. _

_At present, Amber is no better at singing and Rotti has given up. It was one thing when she was still a relatively good person- it was easier for him to indulge her and not feel guilty- but now he's done doing anything above and beyond for her._

_Isn't your birthday this month?_

_-MD_

_..._

January 6th

_Mag-_

_Yes. It's on the ninth. _

_How bad is she, exactly? _

_-SS_

_..._

January 9th

_Severus-_

_Happy Birthday. _

_I intend to get you something, but I'm still trying to figure out what. It took me half a month to figure out what I could get you for Christmas. _

_Are you setting up a joke? She's so bad, dogs howl, windows shatter and small children burst into tears. Very bad. _

_-MD_

_..._

January 14th

_Mag-_

_You don't need to get me anything. It's fine. _

_And so Amber blames her lack of talent on you? Or rather, takes out her aggression over her lack of talent on you because you're so much better? _

_-SS_

...

January 18th

_Severus-_

_I know you said not to get you anything, but I couldn't resist. I hope you enjoy it. _

_And yes, basically. _

_But why are we focusing on_ **_my _**_problems? Let's hear some more about yours._

_-MD_

_..._

January 22nd

_Mag-_

_I don't know whether to laugh or disapparate on my next day off, come back to Sanitarium and slap you. _

_What, in any of our conversations, made you honestly believe that I would enjoy receiving a cassette tape of Amber's god-awful singing? Or is this more of that delightful humor you so enjoy displaying? _

_As far as my **problems** go, I have only one: Women who send me tapes of screeching harpies and their nauseating attempts at singing._

_-SS_

_..._

January 25th

_Severus-_

_And my problems consist of men who don't know how to take a joke. Use the tape to your advantage: Whenever you put some poor child into detention, make them listen to it for over an hour. I guarantee you- if they don't claws their own ears off and die from blood loss- they'll never give you a hassle again._

_And you can come down and slap me all you like. _

_-MD_

_..._

January 30th

_Mag-_

_Did you seriously just make a sex joke?_

_-SS_

_..._

February 3rd

_Severus-_

_Yes. But I didn't mean it quite as hard-core as I think you took it. _

_-MD_

__

...

February 6th

_Mag-_

_Do you often crack sex jokes to men you like?_

_-SS_

_..._

February 9th

_Severus-_

_I wouldn't know; you're my first in all respects, remember?_

_-MD_

_..._

February 11th

_Mag-_

_Right. _

_-SS_

_..._

February 14th

_Severus-_

_Thank you for that rather creative Valentine. I liked the fact that it actually looked like a human heart, which is probably why it surprised me so much when it started to dance. Attached is my Valentine to you, only much less impressive because all I had was computer paper and no wand. _

_-MD_

_..._

February 21st

_Mag-_

_It's lovely. _

_-SS_

_..._

February 24th

_Severus-_

_Thank you. _

-_MD_

_..._

February 27th

_Mag-_

_You may want to keep an eye on that heart; when the charm starts to wear off, it may get a little twitchy._

_-SS_

...

March 30th

_Mag-_

_It's been a month. Is there any particular reason you haven't written? Unless of course I underestimated just how twitchy that heart would get when the charm wore off and it ended up jumping down your throat and killing you, or something similarly ridiculous. Are you all right?_

_-SS_

_..._

April 5th

_Severus-_

_Sorry. I've been preoccupied._

_-MD_

_..._

April 8th

_Mag-_

_Really; and what exactly were you so preoccupied with that it kept your full attention for all of the month of March?_

_-SS_

_..._

April 11th

_Severus-_

_Opera related business. GeneCo related business. Rotti Largo business. The usual/ _

_-MD_

...

April 15th

_Mag-_

_Something has obviously been unusual about it. You're usually quite punctual with your letters. _

_-SS_

...

April 19th

_Severus-_

_It's nothing._

_-MD_

...

April 23rd

_Mag-_

_Come now. I thought we'd reached a level of honesty in our relationship. Unless, of course, you've found someone else to talk to?_

_-SS_

...

April 25th

_Severus-_

_Of course not! Have you forgotten that I'm caged up tighter than a career criminal here? Who would I talk to?_

_-MD_

...

April 28th

_Mag-_

_No need to get snippy. It was a joke. You have yet to answer my question, though. What, precisely, is on your mind? Largo related? GeneCo related? Career related? _

_-SS_

...

May 5th

_Severus-_

_It's nothing, Severus. Really. I'm simply stressed from work. Rotti's been arranging more appearances for me lately, which means seeing more of the Largo children. And that means having to baby-sit Luigi so no one dies, keeping an eye on Pavi to make sure he's not cornering anyone in a dark alley, and trying to make sure that Amber doesn't trip me when I'm in my stage clothes (And she tries). _

_I'm just tired is all. Never before have I wanted to be rid of GeneCo so badly. _

_-MD_

...

May 9th

_Mag-_

_Then why not simply leave and come live in England? I don't believe he'd be able to have you dragged back. I'm reasonably certain that the repossession of body parts is illegal here. Besides, once you have a wand again, you should be able to keep him away without issue._

_-SS_

...

May 13th

_Severus-_

_The one flaw in your plan is this: I have been living under Rotti's rule for the past ten years. I was living under his thumb right out of my parents' house and when I was fresh into adulthood and, more importantly, a world of sight. As pathetic as it sounds, I'm not sure I know how to live any other way now. And I can't expect you to baby-sit me while I learn to fly. It wouldn't be fair, and you have your own life and job to care about._

_-MD_

...

May 15th

_Mag-_

_There is one, easy way to rectify that. _

_-SS_

...

May 19th

_Severus-_

_And what way out that be?_

_-MD_

...

May 23rd

_Mag-_

_Automatically making you a permanent fixture in my life here._

_-SS_

...

May 28th

_Severus-_

_And how would we do that?_

_-MD_

...

June 1st

_Mag-_

_You could always marry me._

_-SS_

...

June 10th

_Severus-_

_Do you mean that? _

-_MD_

...

June 14th

_Mag-_

_I do. _

_-SS_

...

June 16th

_Severus-_

_What time will you be here on Saturday?_

_-MD_

...

June 18th

_Mag-_

_I'll aim for sometime between eight and eleven PM. _

_I'll see you then. _

_-SS_

...

Fred, George and Lee all looked up at one another.

"_Snape_ has a _woman?_" Lee croaked, as though the very idea was enough to make him vomit.

"Bet she's ugly." Fred said automatically. "I mean, think about it: A woman who'd go for a… a _Snape_ must not be very secure in her own looks."

"What about personality?" Lee was being sarcastic. "Maybe they're in _love_."

Fred and Lee both broke into wild sniggering at the idea of a red-blooded human woman with the ability to see and hear being attracted to Severus Snape's personality.

"Holy _Hell_."

The two still on the floor with the letters looked up. George had gone very, very pale, and was holding something in his hand. "What? What?" Fred and Lee scrambled up to join him.

"_Blimey!_ You don't think that's her, do you?"

It was a muggle photograph, unmoving and untalking, of an absolutely _gorgeous _young woman with long, wavy dark hair and large, pale eyes. She was smiling with full, red lips and had lovely, lily-white skin.

The three thirteen year-old boys exchanged stunned looks.

"If it is, Snape is the luckiest man _alive_."

...

SOMETHING TO BEAR IN MIND: Snape doesn't actually have the letters he sent to Mag. He only has the ones she sent to him. So the boys don't actually know that he basically proposed to her.

If Snape and Mag seemed OOC, I'm sorry. Writing them in letter form was… Difficult. But I'd like to think they'd be relaxed enough to show these sorts of sides to one another. Besides, this was meant for a filler and for humor.


	4. Chapter 4

One may notice that in the following chapters, I actually call Snape by his name within the text. That's because the story now focuses on both Snape and Mag, rather than just Snape's point of view.

…

All right, and purposefully not writing his name was getting to be a serious pain in my ass.

...

Mag did not often drink.

But when she did, she got good and _smashed_.

On this particularly warm night in June, she was in the lonely solitude of her apartment downing more vodka than was wise. There were guides they gave you about how much alcohol was safe to consume based on your weight and your sex and your general health, but she ignored them.

Severus' letters had brought her both great joy and humor, as well as several other intense emotions, but also an alarming spike of depression. For the first time since she was in her teens, Mag found herself aching for the world she'd discovered as a child- a world of magic and fantastic things that remained untainted by Rotti.

She also found herself aching even more strongly for the man who had just about proposed to her via owl post.

She'd picked through the old photo albums left by her parents, through a few old spell books she'd managed to save from Rotti's initial purge of anything magical in her possession. They brought back strong memories of her childhood, things her parents would read to her from the books even though they understood very little of what they were saying.

She remembered these things and drank like a fish, wandering about her apartment and trying to think clearly (A lost cause, at this point). Eventually, her pacing brought her to the bedroom.

Mag stared at herself in the mirror for a moment, silent. She saw kohl-covered eyes, dark red lips and pale, porcelain skin. She saw a beautiful young woman who was, particularly considering who her employer was, probably looking forward to another fifty years of life. She saw a woman whose face was plastered on every available wall on Sanitarium Island, and whose voice could be heard anywhere on said island.

She also saw a woman who'd basically taken part in selling a death sentence to hundreds, if not more, people for the sake of cosmetics. She saw a woman who was helping the big bad wolf get a jump on the Little Red Riding Hoods of the world. She saw a woman who was smiling and waving as she ushered the pigs into a slaughter chute.

But worst of all, she saw a woman who was too much of a coward to back out and sacrifice herself to help others.

She didn't deserve shit.

Mag threw down the bottle, which smashed against the hardwood floor and sent miniscule shards of rebounding glass into her hand.

It was, of course, in this momentary lapse of reason that Severus Snape arrived.

It was considered rude to apparate directly into another person's abode under normal circumstances- you never knew exactly what it was that you'd be popping into- but Mag had insisted that he do so, and he hadn't argued, because it was crucial that no one saw him come into or leave Mag's apartment.

He had expected to see Mag either on the couch or on the bed. This meant that he had not expected to see her standing in front of her bedroom mirror with her hand dripping with blood and smashed glass on the floor beside her.

He blinked. Then he jumped to action, quickly stepping forward and guiding her away from the glass. Given her less-than-perfectly-coherent state, he all but dragged her into the bathroom and set about, with a series of small flicking motions with his wand, removing the glass from her ivory skin.

"Mag," Severus said as he worked, careful not to break his overall concentration, "What happened?"

Mag shrugged. He'd seen her shrug before, and this was a slightly less dignified version of the motion in question. This accompanied by the unmistakable scent of vodka that seemed to surround her clarified her situation to him a little better. He made no attempt to talk to her after that moment, instead focusing intently on his task.

When he was finished and her hand was bandaged, he left her in the bathroom for a minute or two to clear up the glass, vanishing it in seconds. Before returning to his intoxicated lover, however, he took a quick detour to the living room and counted two empty bottles of vodka on the table. Mag had smashed the third one, also empty, on the floor.

Pausing, Severus sighed and shut his eyes for a moment as he thought of the best course of action. Three bottles of vodka, particularly for someone who didn't drink that often, would be hell. It would be courteous of him to brew a potion that would help sober her up- at least to a point where he wouldn't have to worry about her head exploding from the pounding hangover pains.

The ingredients needed for such a potion would not be especially difficult, but it would require him to leave the apartment for a time. Before leaving, he situated Mag in bed and bade her to sleep- not a tricky endeavor, given that she already seemed to be succumbing to the effects of the alcohol. At the door, he took one last look at her, and felt his heart tighten; she was miserable. And then- Then he felt anger.

_I should have dragged her off with me last August._

...

"I can't do this any more."

It was morning. At, perhaps, midnight, Severus had returned to the apartment, managed to wake the soprano to a state of sufficient consciousness, and got her to drink the potion. At the moment, she wasn't in the best condition, but she was far better off than the night before.

'I can't do this anymore' was the first phrase she'd spoken since he'd arrived. For a moment, he wondered if maybe she meant drinking- Had she taken up the bottle a little more than usual over the past year? Maybe. It was hard to learn such things from letters unless she'd lapsed so much as to spill bourbon onto the paper at some point or another (He had no recollection of any such instance occurring).

Severus looked down at her. She was sitting at her kitchen table (He was standing next to her), having just shuffled out of the bedroom. She looked defeated.

"GeneCo." She clarified. "I can't do it any more. I can't stand what I do. I can't stand knowing what I'm doing to people. I quit."

He nodded very slowly and wondered if that potion had kicked in all of the way yet. Mag seemed to sense this.

"I mean it, Severus. I'm done with GeneCo. If your offer still stands, I'm retiring and going back to England with you." He wasn't certain he was hearing her correctly. If he was, then this was the best day he'd had since that terribly embarrassing Quidditch match between Gryffindor (The losers) and Slytherin (The victors) two years prior- Minerva hadn't been able to look him in the eye for weeks.

"You're serious?"

"Deadly." He wished she could have used another adjective. "As soon as I stop seeing double," She gave her head a little shake, "I'm going to go talk to Rotti. I'm retiring whether he wants it or not. And he won't."

Severus wondered how his next question would be perceived; he was predicting depression or indifference. Risking inspiring depression in her was not something he was itching to do, but it was, indeed, a very important query.

"And the Repoman?"

Mag's breath caught in her throat.

"I… Will…" She swallowed. "I'll figure something out."

...

Severus' morning was spent on pins and needles. Mag said that, wizard or not, there was no way to get into and then travel around the GeneCo building without being seen and that, of all things, was something they didn't need.

And so his morning on pins and needles, from 10:30 to 12:00, was therefore spent in Mag's apartment, pacing around her living room and hoping to high hell that Rotti didn't call in the Repoman to get a hold of Mag immediately. Every ten minutes that past left him itching to go find her, to just say 'Enough with decorum, just run away with me, woman!'

If you asked him when he'd become such a romantic, Severus Snape would tell you to kindly shut up.

Really, what could be taking so long? He tried to convince himself that Rotti might not be able to go through with killing Mag, and that it may have been an empty but potent threat for all these years.

It wasn't that he believed that Rotti had grown attached to her, no; he was, without a doubt, a complete bastard. Mag, however, was a loved public figure, at least by those who supported GeneCo (He was careful not to think about those who hated GeneCo and what they must think of her- it would only start his blood boiling). Pulling such an ugly move might not endear him to the good people of Sanitarium Island.

But at the same time, Severus reminded himself that the people on this island were not amongst the brightest. Sure, some would have the sense to back out of any and all dealings with GeneCo. But how long would it take Rotti to find new talent? How long would it take him to replace Mag, and find someone else to capture the attention so that everyone forgot the beautiful soprano?

The door flew open and slammed shut. Mag stood in all of her glory, looking pale as a ghost. He dared to ask.

"How did it go?"

Mag sucked in a deep breath, her hand still clutching the door handle. She was trembling. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came forth. The next thing she knew, she was on the ground, sitting against the door- her legs had turned to jelly and could no longer support her weight.

He was next to her in an instant, gently wrapping his arms around her shoulders in what he hoped was a comforting embrace before helping her off the floor and onto the nearby couch.

"He was- He was- I thought he was going to- And Luigi had his- I thought Rotti would let him- Or let Pavi take my- Or let Amber- They were all- But _he_-" Severus had never seen Mag panic before, and he swore that from that point on he would make it his mission in life to never let it happen again.

This time he didn't let her out of his embrace, waiting until she'd calmed enough to form a proper sentence. "What did he say?" Mag shivered and clutched him harder. He could feel her acute trembling and would have loved nothing more than to have gone up to Largo's office and set a dozen or so highly venomous snakes loose into the ventilation system.

"That's just it, Severus," Her voice was low. "He said I could go. He went from furious, screaming like mad at me, and then he was calm. He said I could go if I really wanted to. All he asked was that I do at least one final performance." She started to panic again. "That's where he'll do it, Severus. He'll send the Repoman after me. He'll make it look like an accident, or he'll just tell everyone I went off to be a _hermit_ or something so they'll never-"

"Are you currently operating under the assumption that I'd let that man do anything to you?" Severus asked softly. "Because if you are, I'm taking you away now and checking you into the psychiatric ward of St. Mungo's. There is a _reason_ I'm here, Magdalene, just as there was a reason I wrote all of those letters to you over the past year, and a reason as to why I kept coming back to speak with you after we met."

Mag looked up at him. "And that reason would be?"

"This isn't a muggle soap-opera, Mag. You'll not hear me say it out loud." She laughed, and he couldn't help but feel that it wasn't the most stable-sounding laugh that he'd ever heard. "When is this final performance?"

"This Friday." Mag turned a strange mix between ghostly-white and green at the prospect. In response, he gripped her shoulders firmly but gently and turned her to look him in the eye.

"For the next five and a half days, I will be dogging your steps everywhere you go. If Rotti, or his psychotic brood of brats, or this _Repoman_ want to lay so much as a hand on you, they'll have to get through me first."

Mag thought about that for a moment. Finally, she managed a brave smile.

"They're dead."

...

Mag was as stunning an actress as she was a soprano.

Her breakdown on Sunday had been her last; not an ounce of terror or worry bled past her eyes for that week. It was a display of courage, and a display of control over one's emotions, and if there was any man who could appreciate a woman who could shut her emotions on and off at the drop of a hat, it was Severus Snape.

Oh, he was in- in-

…That word he was having a little trouble saying aloud, though he did allow his mind to whisper it every now and then. He'd never even said it to her- He hadn't found an opportunity to say it without sounding like an idiot (In all fairness, she had yet to say it to him either).

Severus knew this and therefore had not pressed the issue that had come up in their very last few letters over the summer. She had not given him an answer, but rather changed the subject and left it hanging. Since then, so much had happened that he wasn't certain he wanted to add that extra stress on.

On Friday, Mag was to cut the ribbon for the opening of the new opera house; the one that her final performance would take place in. Preceding and following the ribbon-cutting ceremony was an Italian Renaissance Fair sponsored by GeneCo. Severus stayed with her for the duration of the morning until she had to leave, and then shadowed her all the way to the fair. Though he hated crowds, it was much easier to get lost amongst the people and watch Mag from nearby as she got ready for the ceremony.

Standing as close as he dared, with his back to her dressing tent, he folded his arms behind his back. He had already sliced a thin slit into the canvas material to speak through if necessary; However, Mag's guard was currently inside with her, and so any attempts at communication were a no go.

When Mag finally emerged from the tent in a tight, dark green dress that complimented her figure nicely, he made no pretense of looking away. Mag's guard glared at him and fingered her rifle, but Mag frowned and waved her off. "Stop it." She looked at Severus. "Enjoying the festival?" She tried to sound casual. He sniffed.

"More or less. You know how I feel about social events." He glanced around. "Any sign of your employer or his wayward set of spawn?"

"No, not-"

"_WHAT'S THIS? RAT PISS?_" Mag moaned and they both turned to observe Luigi trying to stab some poor assistant to death with a ball-point pen. Unlike the incident with the baguette, this was actually very dangerous, and Mag ran over.

"Luigi, _stop it!_" Luigi looked up at her, glaring. Before he could speak, though, everyone was distracted by Amber's arrival. She came up on Mag with a haughty step and a scowl on her frequently changing features. Severus was immensely pleased in the knowledge that however many surgeries Amber had, she would never be anywhere near as beautiful as Mag.

"Who's gonna sing, then, after you leave?" Amber snarled at her. Luigi, distracted by his sister's arrival and highly interested in the cat-fight she was trying to incite, stood up. The assistant scrambled away, nursing his wounds and whimpering like a kicked dog. Mag shook her head, exasperated.

"Amber, please- It's not my place." She turned to walk away, and Amber grabbed her shoulder and roughly spun her around again. Severus scowled, but did not move. The last thing he wanted was to see Mag being manhandled, but showing anything other than mild interest for her- they were only supposed to be old school friends, remember- could make things worse for her.

"Someone must sing! _Why can't it be **me?**_" Amber glared at Mag as though the soprano was the cause for all of her ills. Paviche Largo, materializing from the smog, from whatever deep, dark hole the freak returned to when not in public, approached his sister with a sigh.

"Sister, _please_-"

"Amber-"

"_Listen you bitch!_" Now Luigi jumped in.

"When _I'm _running GeneCo-" Amber snorted.

"In your _dreams!_"

"Everyone loves the Pavi!"

"When the geezer croaks you'll all learn to respect _me!_"

For once, Severus was not sorry to see Rotti Largo approach.

"THAT'S ENOUGH!"

The children all pointed to one another.

"BUT THEY-"

"SHE-"

"CHILDREN, **_OFF_**!

The Largo brats, thank Merlin, took off. Mag released a sigh of relief. Rotti glared after them, not noticing Severus near the tent. The Professor, meanwhile, was examining the person Rotti had brought with him- other than his two henchwomen.

She couldn't have been more than ten years old, a little girl with long, straight black hair and large brown doe-eyes. She was staring at Mag as though the singer was a goddess, eyes filled with adoration and idolization. Mag didn't notice the girl at first, so focused she was on Rotti, who was now smiling that ugly smile at her.

"Mag. I'd like you to meet someone- the daughter of an old friend. A little ghost from your past." He stood behind the little girl and put his hands on her shoulders. "This is Shilo. Shilo Wallace."

Mag froze.

Her eyes remained locked on the child.

Something stirred in Severus' memory. The name 'Shilo' struck a chord. Had Mag mentioned that name to him before? She must have. He couldn't imagine what else would prompt her to stare at the child as though she'd seen a ghost. He also couldn't imagine what else would prompt Rotti to sport such a shit-eating grin.

"Ah, seeing you two stirs memories." Rotti smiled down at Shilo, who smiled back up at him with blind trust and happiness. "Mag was only 19 … Not much older than your mother had been when I met her."

"Really?" Shilo's innocent inquiry managed to drown out the soft choke-squeak noise that escaped Mag's throat.

"Oh yes! I heard her lovely voice, and knew right then that I'd do anything to help her achieve her dreams as a singer."

Never before in his life had Severus Snape been so compelled to choke someone.

(On a completely unrelated note, this urge would come again in a year's time once he was introduced to the dim-witted wonder that was Gilderoy Lockhart).

Mag had managed to dull some of her obvious shock, and was now looking at Shilo with something akin to wonder and interest. She regarded the little girl as though she were a particularly rare flower that just happened to pop up out of nowhere, beautiful and surprising and so pure and innocent and sweet…

"And that, Shilo, is why I want to help you as well."

Severus just barely caught the look of abject horror that struck Mag's beautiful features before she reined herself in again.

Whoever this girl was, she would not by any means benefit from any help of Rotti Largo's.

Whatever she was feeling right then, Mag seemed to have taken the same line of thought as him, and seemed ready to say something, anything, when-

"_Will the voice of GeneCo please take the stage? Blind Mag, to the stage!_"

An energetic woman's voice came over the PA system.

Mag lingered a moment, fixated on Shilo, but then numbly turned around and made for the stage. But as she passed Severus, she dared a look back at Rotti and the child. Rotti was talking to Shilo again. In that split second when his eyes were not on his precious caged bird, Mag seized Severus' shirt and pulled him over to her.

"_Keep an eye on her!_" Mag gasped at him before letting go and moving on as though nothing had happened.

...

"Oh Mag, I _really_ wish you wouldn't go!" Rotti said with a pained look, his arm wrapped around Mag's shoulders. The pair stood on the steps leading up to the theater where the Genetic Opera would be hosted that night. Severus twitched and tried not to focus on how close the two were. Mag managed a weak smile.

"It's difficult," She directed it to both Rotti and the crowd, "But I really should… Give it a rest." Rotti's eyes narrowed in mock anger.

"Come now, Mag, you belong to GeneCo! Remember?" For a moment, a split second, Mag looked stricken. In the crowd, Severus tensed. Had Rotti really just said that out loud? To a very large gathering of people?

But then the tycoon laughed. "Of course I joke!" Everyone laughed, and Mag managed a faint chuckle, her smile on the borderline of a grimace.

"Of course," She echoed hollowly. Rotti gave her a little squeeze, still chuckling.

"You are free to go, dear. Your presence at GeneCo will be sorely missed." He motioned to Luigi, who handed his father a large pair of scissors, which were then held out to Mag. She hesitated, but then accepted them, turned and cut the red ribbon that lay stretched across the doors of the theater.

There was a great deal of clapping. Shilo was grinning and bouncing back and forth on the balls of her feet. But for nearly a minute, as the crowd descended into chatter around her and eight GenTerns opened the doors to the theater, Mag's carefully pleasant expression melted away, and Severus saw that she was troubled.

Not just troubled, really- _desolate_. And every part of her demeanor reflected it. Her shoulders slumped a bit, hindered by her natural poise, her eyes darkened and looked at the ground, and her smile had dissolved into an almost-frown that was fraught with nervousness.

Then she caught Severus' eye. A moment later, she was smiling again, and this time it was genuine. A voice boomed over the loudspeakers as Mag and Rotti took a bow.

"_Everybody, Everybody,_

_Line up! Line up!_

_We got tickets_

_Opera tickets_

_Don't be shy!_"

"Hey!" Someone squawked. Severus was rudely jostled by one of Rotti's henchwomen. The pair had both, plain as day, come up to little Shilo and grabbed her by the wrists, dragging her off through the waves of people. He remembered the way that Mag had reacted upon seeing this girl and wondered if maybe he should follow.

Mag was being questioned (interrogated) by reporters at the moment. No way to get an opinion from her. Severus was not overly fond of children (That could happen when you taught children ranging from ten to eighteen every day for a year whilst also living in the same castle with them), but remembered Mag's hissed message and, out of respect and- and that other word he had a harder time saying- followed her.

...

Trailing this little Shilo girl took him to a place he never thought he'd end up: A back alley full of what he quickly realized must have been scalpel-sluts and straight-up zydrate addicts.

If she learned where this kid had run off to, Mag was going to have a _conniption fit_.

To explain: Severus had followed Shilo and the guards to a tent, into which the little girl was unceremoniously shoved. By the time he managed to surreptitiously sneak around the back and get inside, he'd nearly been bowled over by a young man with rainbow hair and a ratty old coat, as well as too much make-up to be normal.

And who was this odd man dragging by the wrist?

It had to be Shilo. It couldn't be one of the hundreds of other children that likely inhabited Sanitarium, oh no. That would make this too easy.

A simple tracking spell helped him keep up, and it was lucky that he was a wizard and therefore capable of performing tracking spells, because this guy knew the streets well, and Severus lost sight of them more than a few times.

And thus we return to the alley of zydrate addicts.

"Graverobber," A few croaked, bleary-eyed and pale as Shilo and the man skidded to a stop. Severus remained concealed in the shadows. "What's up? You got a hit?"

So he was a Graverobber. Severus was abruptly dragged back a year, when he and Mag had met in the graveyard, and Mag had said that he didn't fit the stereotypical image of a grave robber.

Thank. Merlin.

These had to be hard-core junkies, though; he'd seen Amber, and if she was really as addicted as some of these people, she was probably using her surgery connections to conceal it. And he would admit that Rotti seemed to have some damn good surgeons working for him.

"Where are we?" Shilo whispered, staring wide-eyed at the zombie-people and their drugged-out expressions. Graverobber spread his arms out.

"This, my dear, is the location of the Zydrate Support Network meeting house." He jerked his head towards a yellowed, rusting sign near a dark, musty staircase that led into the basement of a building.

"Zydrate?"

Severus was almost certain that the head of every junkie turned to stare stupidly at Shilo, as though she'd grown wings and started speaking in tongues. Zydrate had become such an integral aspect of their lives that they'd forgotten that some people didn't know about it at all.

Graverobber grinned. "Never heard of it? Daddy keeps you locked up pretty tight, doesn't he Princess?" Shilo blushed a deep red and mumbled something incoherent. Graverobber chuckled. "Yeah, sure. Well, allow me to give you a crash course on the subject."

He reached into his coat and pulled a small glass container filled with a glowing blue liquid. The junkies all hissed eagerly and stepped forward. Graverobber held the zydrate up. "The rhyme goes something like this: 'Zydrate comes in a little glass vial'." He beckoned Shilo closer with a finger and held it in front of her eyes.

"A… Little glass vial?" She repeated, squinting at the glimmering liquid with more than some bemusement. Graverobber nodded.

"A little glass vial. 'And the little glass vial goes into the gun like a battery'." Again, from inside his coat, Graverobber removed a small metal syringe-gun, clicking the vial inside. He then looked around at the junkies and nodded to a young blonde woman with blue streaks in her hair. She grinned in a feral manner and slapped a wad of money against his chest.

"'And the zydrate gun goes somewhere against your anatomy'." He pressed the gun to the woman's stomach, bared by a tube-top and a ridiculously low skirt.

It suddenly occurred to Severus that this Graverobber fellow was, basically, teaching ten year-old Shilo how to inject a potentially dangerous and addictive drug into her body after, presumably, purchasing it illegally on the streets (Rotti, most likely, did not hand zydrate out for home use very often).

He wondered if he should intervene. On one hand, he'd be pulling Shilo out of a situation that Mag would, most certainly, not approve of (And he would be damned if he was relating this tale to her later). On the other hand, though, Shilo had no idea who he was, and Severus knew very well, having been teaching at Hogwarts for nearly ten years, that he was no particularly good with children.

For the time being, he would wait.

"'And when the gun goes off it sparks, and you're ready for surgery'." He pulled the trigger, and the woman fell to the ground, gasping and moaning. Shilo went very, very pale.

Ding, check please: Time for Shilo to go home. Telling her how to take drugs was one thing, demonstrating it was another.

But then, more of that horrible luck that was so attracted to Severus Snape hit once more, this time in the form of Amber Sweet stomping down the alleyway (Looking like a world-class whore) with two bodyguards close behind.

"Graverobber," She crooned seductively. Smirking when he grinned back at her lewdly (She wore a black corset and a black miniskirt and nothing else), she started to snuggle up to him and purr something to him whilst Shilo went dark red and tried to make herself small as possible.

Damn.

Moving out into the open was not a good option; Amber had seen him a year before, and may have seen him at the festival. Severus was now hesitantly taking Mag's warning to heart and assuming that Amber was smarter than she looked, and probably had a fair memory; just enough to notice when the stranger that was associated with Mag was poking his nose in where he oughtn't.

Amber backed up to the wall of the alley as the other addicts watched with a mixture of disgust, jealousy and admiration (She was, undoubtedly, the queen addict). Graverobber grinned at Shilo. "Amber Sweet: Addicted to the knife."

"Addicted to the knife?" Shilo repeated again. Severus rolled his eyes. If there was any one pet peeve of his, it was running into a child that had to repeat everything they heard back to check if they'd heard it correctly.

"Addicted to the knife- To surgery. And, addicted to the knife, she needs a little help with the agony." He wagged his eyebrows comically as he held up the zydrate gun, clicking a new vial in with one fluid motion. "And a little help comes in a glass vial and a gun pressed against her anatomy. One pull of the trigger and Miss Sweet is ready for surgery."

Amber, who'd had her eyes shut as Graverobber spoke, opened one lazily and gave him a half-glare. "Sometimes I wonder why I even bother with you." Graverobber have a cocky smirk back.

"Something to do with this, I think." He pulled the trigger and she gasped, slumping against the wall and grinning as the high took over. He stood back and observed her roguishly, eyes raking over her now slumped form. Idly, he whistled a little tune that, to Severus struck a familiar chord in his memory.

As he tried to comprehend the concept of himself and this grave robber knowing the same songs, Shilo answered his silent question, piping up, "Isn't that one of Blind Mag's songs?"

It was amazing how quickly those addicts cleared out.

Amber's eyes snapped open, and she was upright in a flash. "_Who said that?_" She snarled, eyes finally fixating on Shilo, who winced and drew back. Graverobber was watching impassively, eyes flickering between the two females. Amber stumbled forward, muscles still reeling from the shot of zydrate.

If Severus hadn't been certain that Amber was too debilitated by the high to do any actual harm to Shilo, he would have cut his losses and cursed the woman into oblivion. She was a waste of space who spent her free time harassing Mag; and honestly, he didn't think her father would mind.

"You think you got heart? You think you got balls? You think Mag can _sing?_" Amber sneered mockingly as she towered over Shilo, who cowered and flinched under the older girl's stare.

"I don't think nothing at all."

"So you think _Mag_ has pipes? Well, it'll be my turn to shine when the Repoman _strikes!_" Shilo's eyes went wide, frozen.

"What are you talking about?" Amber motioned to one of her guards, who handed her a rolled up magazine that she slapped into Shilo's now shaking hands. Graverobber leaned over and flipped the pages for her until they reached the right one. He jabbed his finger at something on the page.

"You see, Mag's contract has some… Fine print."

"Fine print?" Severus edged a little closer towards them, hoping that the motion didn't draw attention to himself. What exactly were they looking at?

"Oh yes. It's got her in quite the predicament. You see, if Mag splits, her eyes are forfeit, and if Rotti and GeneCo so will it: A Repoman will come and she'll pay for that surgery she had."

Shilo, if possible, went even paler than before. Severus recalled her euphoric face upon meeting Mag. But something pressed on his mind, nagging: The complications of Mag's contract were public knowledge? Why, then, was no one protesting? And why would Rotti have let that information get public? It would only vilify him more when Mag's eyes were eventually repossessed.

He didn't have much time to ponder this. Either to avoid more humiliation or, in a slimmer chance, actually caring that his daughter was currently shooting up on a dangerous drug, Rotti had sent a full-blown SWAT team to recover Amber from the alley. Severus gratefully followed Shilo and Graverobber as they bolted and eventually hopped onto the back of a slow-moving garbage truck.

They ended up in the graveyard where Severus and Mag had met. Shilo neatly hopped off as the truck passed a noticeably well-kept tomb, waving a goodbye to Graverobber before opening the door and slipping inside. When the truck was out of sight, Severus chanced a closer look.

On the door was the inscription:

**MARNI WALLACE**

**1962 – 1991**

**MOTHER TO SHILO**

**MAY SHE REST IN PEACE**

And suddenly, all was clear.

When he apparated into Mag's apartment, he was greeted by a less than calm, cool and collected opera star.

"Where is she? Where's Shilo?" She gasped, grasping Severus' arm in supplication. He took a deep breath.

"She went home."

Mag wasn't simply frantic now- she was agitated. Angry.

"I'm going to kill him."

...

She'd gone alone. She had a guard with her, and it was now apparent that Rotti wasn't planning on anything until, at the very least, the opera was over, and so when Mag asked Severus to stay in apartment and wait for her there, he didn't argue. He also wasn't certain, given the expression on Mag's face when she'd left him, that he'd want to see the showdown between her and one Nathan Wallace.

It took only half an hour, maybe more, maybe les before she finally returned. Unlike the previous Sunday morning, Severus managed to wait out her return in relative peace. All the same, though, he sprang off the couch when he heard the doorknob turn.

Mag was not a happy woman.

And she was _more_ than happy to explain why.

"He threw you out?"

"Yes."  
Mag stormed across her apartment, feeling very much like throwing something. As there was nothing in her hand, she settled with giving the couch a sharp kick before spinning about and dropping down on it. Her arms rested on her knees, her hands propped up her head, which she shook in disbelief. She felt the couch sink as Severus sat down beside her, and then felt his hand on her back.

"He's keeping her locked up. Says she has some _blood disease_ that means she can't go outside- can't be around people, can't breathe the outside air without a gas mask. A gas mask!" Her voice was bitter and harsh, and she furiously reached down and started to remove her boots.

"With respect to your anger," Severus said wryly, "I'm tempted to wear a mask in this city as well."

"_Severus_, don't you understand? Nathan's kept Shilo caged up in that house her entire life, and it'll be for the rest of her life unless he finds a cure! Shilo is a little girl who wants to go outside and explore, and Rotti is offering her the key that Nathan is _not_! What would you do?"

Severus sniffed. "I can't comment. You've biased my opinion on Rotti entirely." He paused. "So he's priming her to become the next you- only twenty years younger. Groom her into a new spokeswoman for GeneCo."

Mag sighed and shook her head as she stood and stalked off to her bedroom. "I wish that that wasn't the obvious answer, but it is." He followed after, watching neutrally as she threw her shoes down next to the bed and moved over to the mirror. He noted the time on the digital clock next to her bed: 4:00 PM. Four hours until the opera.

Meanwhile, Mag stared into the mirror, her hands clenching into fists. Those unnatural eyes stared back at her, allowed her to see everything she was and everything she'd become. What she wouldn't give to be-

She froze.

"Yes."

Severus looked up. Mag wasn't talking to him, though. She was looking into the mirror with a thoughtful, peaceful, curious expression. "What?"

"That's it. That's how… I'll never be rid of him otherwise… Even I did…" She whispered. "They'll always remind me. I'll have to… At the opera tonight… Yes…"

She slowly turned around again. She appeared to have had an epiphany. Moments before, she looked as though she'd had the weight of the world on her head- which she did. But now… Now she looked calm. At peace. Happy.

"I know how to do it." Mag said, pacing over to him with small, measured steps. He nodded.

"What, exactly?"

"I found a loophole. There is _one_ way I can stop the Repoman from taking my eyes." Severus, at that moment, felt him stomach wrench ominously. Somehow, subconsciously, he'd worked out exactly what she meant to do, and by God, it was horrible. But his mind seemed to be blocking it out, refusing to process it.

"And that loophole would be…?" Mag shook her head. She looked almost dazed.

"You'll see tonight. I'll sing my last song, and then we… We can… If you still want to-" He glared at her.

"_If_ I still want to?"  
Mag smiled. She stepped forward and embraced him, pressing her face into his shoulder and shivering. She shut her eyes and reveled in the darkness.

"I'm going to the graveyard. I need to- I need to visit Marni." She muttered distractedly, going for the boots she'd removed less than two minutes before. "You'll be at the show?"

"Naturally."

She stood again and moved for the door, flinging it open and moving to step out, only to stop. Mag hesitated, turned around, and looked back. "Severus?" He gazed back at her unflinchingly.

"Yes?"

That look in her eyes. She wasn't going to say _it_, was she?

"I…" She gave a weak smile. "I love you."

Damn. She'd said it.

He was silent for a moment, mouth twitching in an effort to form words. She might have been testing him, might have been trying to gauge if he had the fortitude to say it back to her and mean it. He would _mean_ it, oh yes, but getting the actual word, one he never used, out there was the only issue.

But there was a reason that Severus was attracted to Mag; many in fact. One rather important one being that she understood him and his nature and his tendency for hissing and spitting at emotions like an angry cat at a dog.

Mag smiled. "It's all right. You don't have to say it back."

And she left.

...

Okay, so…

I dropped the ball.

When I planned this out, I wanted Mag to be within the same age group as Severus. So I made her a year younger than him.

My plan was to have the story progress normally as far as the events in Repo! went, but then something occurred to me:

In Repo! Mag was 39 or 40 (And in my honest opinion, she looked more like a 25). Minus seventeen years, Marni died when Mag was 22 or 23. (Marni, on that note, was six years older than Mag).

… In short, this means that Shilo would _not_ be seventeen in this story. No easy way of working that out (Mag would have to have been thirteen when Shilo was born for this to work out right).

In short, I reduced everyone's ages by about seven to nine years. In the first two chapters, Mag was 29. In this new section, she's 30. Shilo is 10 in this (People, we're combining Repo! with a story where an eleven year-old practically saves the world. We'll live with this age change). Amber is 20, Pavi is about 23, and Luigi's about 25.

AND YES: I COULD NOT RESIST PUTTING 'ZYDRATE ANATOMY' IN. LOVE THAT SONG. I tried not to make it so cheesy, but I couldn't resist staying true to most of the lyrics.


	5. Chapter 5

This is the second to last chapter, but the next one will be delayed; it's the only one I haven't finished yet.

ALSO: To those of you who know Harry Potter but not Repo! The Genetic Opera, and find yourselves interested in this odd Repo! creation...

Yes, my pretties.

Feel the Repo.

Smell the Repo.

Love the Repo.

Become ENSNARED in the Repo.

JOIN. US.

* * *

At 8:00 PM, the Genetic Opera began.

Severus had not taken a seat, but rather lurked in the shadows of the aisle closest to the door that would lead back stage. He had a deep-down gut-wrenching feeling that something was going to go down tonight, something ugly, and he wanted to be able to get onto the stage as discreetly and as quickly as possible.

The curtains parted, and a group of gold-masked people on stage, poised around a set of instruments, stared out at them. "_Ladies and Gentlemen, the GENETIC OPERA!_" The music exploded, the stage lights flashing on and confetti falling from the ceiling. A portly conductor danced down the main aisle, followed by five scantily-clad, raunchy-dancing GenTerns.

"_Everybody, Everybody!"_

"Get down, get down, down!"

"_St-st-st-st-stand up!_"

"Don't be shy!"

"_People, People, People!_"

"Get up, get up, get up!"

"_Everybody, Everybody, _

_Everybody!_

_Get down, get down, down_

_St-st-st-st-stand up!_"

"Don't be shy!"

"_People, People, People!_

_Get up, get up, get up,_

_EVERYBODY, TESTIFY!_"

In an- to Severus, at any rate- utterly vapid and transparent show of the mindset of the good people of Sanitarium Island, people started to jump out of their seats and proclaim to the whole theater how GeneCo had saved their lives- in a literal and social sense. Had none of these idiots even considered the long lines of Prop. 598 supporters outside who were purposefully being kept out?

Of course not. Their problems had been solved, and that was all that mattered.

"_S-S-S-S-SAVED!"_

Luigi and Pavi Largo came pelting down the aisle, waving their arms and grinning as they tried to further the hype.

"_Everybody, everybody_

_Get down, get down, down!_

_St-St-Stand up!_

_Don't be shy!_

_People, people, people!_

_Get up, get up, get up!_

_Everybody, everybody_

_TES-TI-FY!_"

A burst of light near the doors drew attention, and Rotti Largo, flanked by his now cloaked henchwomen, strode grinning down the aisle, shaking the hands of those closest to him. He moved with the music a bit as he made his way to the stage, eventually climbing up and joining his sons. For a moment, they had the illusion of being a happy family.

"_Hey, hey, hey, hey!_

_Hey, hey, hey, HEY!_

_EVERYBODY!_

_EVERYBODY!_

_MAKE YOUR GENETICS YOUR **BITCH!**_"

The lights went off, casting the Largos and the GenTerns into shadows as the audience burst into wild applause. The curtains slid shut, hiding them from view, and a charismatic-sounding announcer came over the loudspeaker:

"_And now, put your hands together for GeneCo's favorite and ONLY daughter, Amber Sweet!_" The audience burst into applause- noticeably weaker now- as the curtains parted once more and Amber appeared on stage.

Severus didn't know whether to laugh or cringe.

Amber was dolled up like some sort of brunette-Marie-Antoinette-wannabe, not unlike Mag's rifle-toting bodyguard. Her hair- obviously a wig- was piled high atop her head, and adorned with large blue cloth butterflies. Her dress fit the mold for 18th century French fashion in every sense except for the fact that the skirt ended about mid-thigh. Behind her danced various GenTerns and what appeared to be male strippers.

How was nobody laughing at this?

He was having a hard enough time as it was.

And when she started singing, he actually sniggered a bit and tried to pass it off as a bad cough.

"_Blame not my cheeks, _

_Though pale with love they be!_

_Oh-oh…!_"

With that strange vocalization, Amber gave an awkward little twirl…

…And her face fell off.

Just… Dropped off her head and landed on the stage, revealing the muscle and tissue beneath.

For the first time in who-knew how long, Severus Snape laughed his _ass_ off.

The audience shared his sentiments. There was a fine mix of cat-calling, booing and hysterical laughter as Amber, mortified and humbled (He hoped), scooped up her fallen face and trotted off stage. The GenTerns and male dancers stumbled off as well, caught off guard by the incident.

The curtains flew shut hastily. "_Just a few moments, ladies and gentlemen, and we'll get on with the next performance._"

Severus thought for a moment, and then realized that the announcer probably meant Mag. As far as singers went, the only two he'd heard of in Sanitarium were Mag and Amber (And Amber was a bit of a stretch). If there was anyone else singing tonight, he hadn't heard of them.

Soon enough, the lights dimmed, and the curtains slid open again, revealing an elaborate and elegant backdrop of cold, icy mountains. On the stage itself were two decorative, black wrought-iron fences and two scraggly white trees. Mounds of a white, shredded substance made piles of snow surrounding the props, and it fell gently from some hidden machine above.

Mag descended from the concealed catwalk above, poised delicately, balanced precariously in the constraints of the expertly concealed harness. She wore a black corset adorned in black and wine-red feathers, both of which contrasted magnificently with her lily-white skin. A thin, black veil trailed out as a skirt behind her, ending just above the floor.

She looked spectacular.

But on Mag's index fingers- they glinted in the light and caught his eye- were a set of long, sharp, curved black nails that looked like glorified claws. Quite attractive, though he didn't quite see what they added to the costume over all. If she was going for a bird-look, were they supposed to be talons, maybe?

"_Tanto tempo fa_

_Un uccello fatale di nome…_

_Chromaggia,_"  
As Mag continued to sing, she paced elegantly about the false-snow strewn stage, her voice echoing in the hall. Severus had to wonder if she'd seen Amber's most humiliating moment. It certainly would have made her night.

This was once performance the audience wouldn't boo off the stage. Mag's singing was perfection, art in its truest form. Unlike Amber, who was a drug-addicted, nasty and vicious little slut, Mag was a poised, dignified _lady_ of great beauty. Amber could get attention for her antics, could make headlines with scandals, but Mag would always be the best, because she could make the headlines without trying.

And she would never have to again, after tonight.

What to do when they returned to Britain? Suppose Mag's idea about the loophole was wrong; they'd need to leave quickly to avoid a confrontation with the Repoman or Rotti. And Rotti would try to stall her at all costs.

"_Chromaggia, Chromaggia, _

_Perche nin affronti il pericolo?"_

They wouldn't have a problem, though. He could take care of them without issue. He could take care of her. But doubt lingered still: When she'd asked him if his offer still stood, what had she meant? Did she really want to marry him? He certainly hoped that was what she wanted, because he wasn't sure how'd he'd react if nothing came of this once she was free.

"_Tirando la freccia, _

_Altri son ferriti per mia colpa, _

_Mia colpa…_"

Mag trailed off. For a moment, the song went on, but she did not sing. Was this a planned silence? The audience was waiting patiently for her to continue, and didn't seem put off by the delay.

Meanwhile, Mag's eyes swept over the audience, scanning them until she spotted Severus in the aisle to her right. He saw her gaze at him for the longest time, almost longingly, sadly. He straightened up abruptly from where he'd been leaning against the wall. A sudden flipping sensation in his stomach made him shiver, made him think.

Why on earth did Mag look so depressed?

And why was she looking at everything so deeply, as though she'd never…?

"_Giu! Verso la bocca del diavolo!_

_La sua freccia, I miei occhi…_"

Mag had strode back over to the harness, managed to subtly hook herself in without the audience catching it, and was now rising up off the stage and back towards the catwalk above.

No.

Suddenly, that which had eluded him earlier, when she'd stared so intently into the mirror and mumbled about the loophole she'd found started to come to him.

"_Chromaggia…_

_Come take these eyes…_"

Mag turned her head, only her head, and glared at Rotti, who was standing off-stage.

With a suddenly lightheaded feeling, Severus now grasped exactly what Mag was going to do, and why she'd avoided telling him earlier. He would have tried to talk her out of it. Breathing hard, he immediately made his way to the door that led back stage.

The riddle:

What was the one way to stop the Repoman from taking her eyes?

"_I would rather be…"_

Take them out herself.

_"Blind!_"

And that was what she did.

He got back stage just in time to watch Mag bury the long, sharp nails he'd noticed earlier into her eyes. Blood sprayed from the delicate tissue, staining the fake snow below and running down her face like tears. In one sharp twist and jerk, Mag tore her own eyes out of her head, letting them fall to the stage below with a sick squelch.

The audience started to shriek in terror and shock, covering their eyes and mouths. Severus was certain he'd heard one person getting sick. Mag, on the other hand, looked euphoric; those eyes that had landed her in servitude were gone, now, like so much trash on the floor. She was blind again, and was no longer bound to Rotti.

She was free.

She laughed.

And that was when Severus saw Rotti Largo moving towards the ropes that held up the harnesses.

He had a sword in hand, which glinted as he raised it.

Mag had no idea what was happening until the rope snapped.

With a sudden jerk, she fell, gasping-

"_Wingardium Leviosa!_"

In the split second it took to cast the spell, he had probably saved Mag's life.

Directly below her on the stage had been one of the decorative wrought-iron fences with very, very sharp spikes pointing up. He had caught her just as her back had brushed their tops, barely enough to even cut her skin.

With a flick of his wand, she fell forward onto her hands and knees in the fake snow, blood alternating between streaming and dripping from her eyes like a sink that's been turned on only part of the way.

The audience was still screaming, and the curtain suddenly rushed to close. "_Ladies and Gentlemen, don't panic,_" The announcer's voice chuckled easily over the loud speakers. "_Stay in your seats. It's all part of the show!_" Rotti was up front seconds later, laughing and reaffirming the announcer's claim, trying to pacify the audience. Severus was certain that, however idiotic the vast majority of these people were, they knew real and fake when they saw it up close and personal.

"_Stay tuned, folks!_

_You don't want to move, folks…!_"

He rushed over to Mag as the curtains slid shut and knelt by her, gently coaxing her to lay down on the stage. She resisted, though, trying to remain at least propped up on her elbows.

"Severus?" Mag looked up at him, a pair of empty eye-sockets staring back. He was jolted back, horribly, to that first conversation they'd had in Mag's apartment, when she'd told him about the consequences of violating her contract. He'd imagined, ever so briefly, what Mag would look like with her eyes gouged out.

He felt every bit as nauseous now as he had then.

"Does anything feel broken?" He asked, swallowing his urge to vomit and checking her over for any injuries (other than the obvious). Mag didn't seem to hear it.

"I did it." She smiled again. It was a little off-putting, given the circumstances. "I did it. They're gone. I can't see." She gave an almost mad laugh. "I'm not GeneCo's property any more!"

He pressed a hand to her forehead. It was feverish. Blood was pumping steadily from her eye sockets now, and at an alarming rate, and he set about stemming the flow. "Lay back, Mag. Hold still. _Vulnera Sanentur_." Merlin only knew how many blood vessels would have to be healed before he could dare to move Mag.

He heard the footsteps behind him and didn't bother to turn around. He knew who was there, and the blood was just starting to ebb. Mag needed his attention more. She needed him.

And oh _Lord_ he needed her too. She couldn't die.

"_You! _I should have known. I should have _known_ it was you that put this retirement business into her head-"

In the next instant, Rotti found himself staring down the business end of a wand.

It wasn't just him- Pavi, Luigi and the two henchwomen were with Rotti as well. The guards readied their shotguns and prepared to shoot, but Rotti barked at them, "Stop! Stay back!" He stared at Severus with a grim shade of knowledge in his eyes. "You… You're a-"

"Yes."

There was a moment of complete silence, punctuated only by Mag's ragged breathing. He wondered how far her coherency went at this point.

"Magdalene," Severus said softly, "No longer possesses your _property_. She's no longer bound by your contract." He gave a cruel, twisted smirk, and then lowered his voice, "And even if she is, I dare you to try and collect on it. I _promise_ you, you won't live long enough to regret trying."

Rotti's lip curled into a sneer. "I'm not going to live long anyway."

"Then I'll make what time you _do _have a living nightmare."

Without warning, there was a masculine scream followed by a sick gurgling, like someone was choking on their own blood. Both men jerked their heads in the direction of the path that led offstage, behind the fence that Mag had nearly been impaled on only minutes before. When a tall man in a long, black leather coat emerged and effortlessly took down the two henchwomen, Severus hastily brought his wand back down to his side, out of sight.

The man came face to face with Luigi, who sniffed and stepped aside. When said man saw Severus, Rotti and Mag, he stopped short and stared, eyes darting amongst them. He didn't speak, but his expression spoke volumes: _What the hell?_

Rotti abruptly turned back to Severus. "You want her?" He jerked his head towards Mag. "Fine. Take her. I never want to see her again. Go." He then turned to the new arrival and smirked.

Severus did not much care for playing spectator to this new development- and he did care quite a bit about getting Mag offstage and out of that bloody opera house as soon as humanly possible. Without waiting to hear Rotti start up on the man, Severus knelt down, pulled Mag's arm around his neck, helped her to her feet and helped her to hobble offstage.

The sound of the curtains opening again told him they'd gotten off just in time.

The sound of a blood spurting and a shout of pain, followed by a cry of "_Dad!_" told him that the night was not over quite yet.

Mag was suddenly alert, panicked. "Shilo? Was that Shilo?" Severus turned and looked over his shoulder. Oh yes, it was Shilo- The little girl was in a little black dress and staring with grim horror as her father, tased by one of Rotti's recovered henchwomen, writhed on the ground.

"Yes, it was. _Tergeo_." The blood disappeared from Mag's face as though it had never been there to begin with.

"You've exceeded all my plans," Rotti praised Shilo. Luigi snickered.

"More than you could say for Amber." Rotti glared at him.

"More than I could say for _you_. And you're just as worthless!" He snapped at Pavi, who'd been laughing at his brother.

"I just want my cure."

"Mag, I'm sorry to insult the child of your dearest friend, but has it even briefly occurred to her that there _is_ no cure?" Severus growled as he went about siphoning the blood from Mag's chest. She was sitting upright, frowning. Her hand was gripping his shoulder hard enough to bruise.

"Shilo- Shilo. Where is she?"

"On the stage. Stay still." He didn't listen as Rotti boomed something to the audience that made them gasp. Mag's head was bumping the crook of his neck as she tried valiantly not to succumb to unconsciousness.

"Nathan too? He's here?"

Not wanting her to black out and unwilling to ignore her when she was obviously so distressed, Severus glanced back towards the stage briefly. Shilo had said 'Dad' before; the only men on stage were Rotti, Luigi, Pavi and the man in the black coat. Deduction: The man in the black coat was Nathan.

"Yes. He's there too."

"They're hurting him."

"I know."

"I have to-"

"_You_ have to sit still and let me take care of you."

And then, as if he wasn't having a hard enough time convincing her to lie still and relax, Luigi and Pavi's eager and energetic voices carried clear to them, cutting through the silence.

"Did you know he killed your mother?"

Severus felt Mag tense. "What?"

"It was an accident!" Nathan gasped to Shilo pleadingly.

"_What_?" Mag repeated.

"Accidents don't end in murder!" The Largo brothers sang.

Mag was unreadable. Her face was frozen in a mask of shock, and she clutched his shoulder just as tightly as before, but there was no real way of telling what was going through her head at that moment.

Severus wasn't certain how legitimate the Largos' claims were- If Rotti was a lying snake, his sons were probably just as bad- but he knew that they weren't quite arrogant enough to pull such an accusation out of the air without some sort of basis. Solid facts or not, they had to have something they were going off on.

It was pointless to hope that Mag hadn't realized that. The pain and sorrow were slowly but surely starting to bleed into her expression. Severus knew that this was probably the rough equivalent of him finding out that Dumbledore had murdered Lily: Next to Impossible.

"Marni." She croaked.

"He's been poisoning your medication!" Rotti accused, pointing damningly at Nathan. "All those years, he's kept you locked up while forcing medicine for your _blood disease_ down your throat. You're not sick at all! He's been making you ill to keep you to himself!"

"What?" He had to admit that he felt sorry for the girl. Her head was turning wildly back and forth between the Largos, her father and the audience as they sat and watched the drama unfold; it was unclear as of yet if they knew that what they were seeing was actually real.

"I can't breathe," Shilo whimpered, clutching her head. Instantly, Mag was struggling to get up, trying to force herself onto her wobbling legs.

"_Let go!_" She hissed. Severus glared at her.

"You're lucky you haven't bled out already. There's no way in hell you're going out there. You can't even see!"

"_I spent nineteen years of my life blind! I can do it!_"

"_No!_"

"Fight it, Shilo!" Rotti encouraged.

"I need my pills," Shilo protested.

"They're what's making you sick!"

"Severus, _let go!_" Mag had managed to stand, her legs shaking madly, weak from blood loss. He had his arms wrapped around her, in the only way he could think to restrain her without bruising her. Dear Merlin, she was getting paler.

"No."

"_Dammit, Severus!_"

Shilo collapsed. All Mag heard was a thump.

"She's down."

"Shilo!" Mag lurched away from Severus, stumbling back towards the stage. He grabbed her again, having let go in surprise, tried to pull her back, but she pushed him away. "I can't let her- He'll- Marni wouldn't want- Severus, I _have_ to!"

Her skin was alarmingly cool now, and he couldn't even begin to guess the amount of blood she'd lost. "You need to see a healer."

"I can't leave Shilo and Nathan. Severus- _please_." She had shut her eyes, apparently coherent enough to realize what it would look like if she'd tried to open them in what would be a pleading look. The two henchwomen had woken up, and were now hauling Nathan into a chair and fastening him into it. Shilo was starting to stir.

The last thing he wanted Mag to do was go and throw herself out to those lunatics, but he knew that holding her back would not endear him further to her. He hoped she could feel him glaring at her. "You have exactly five minutes to do what you have to. After that, I'll drag you off by your hair if I have to."

Mag gave a small, sad smile. "I'll be counting on it." She moved hesitantly towards the stage again. Severus kept his hand on her elbow. "Stay here. There might need to be some…" She paused, looking for the right words.

"Spell work?" Severus supplied. Mag nodded. "Wait a moment- Shilo's getting up. You may not need to do anything." He added, nodding in the child's direction before remembering that Mag couldn't see the gesture.

"Is she hurt?"

"Not that I can see."

"I still need to go out there."

"I still would rather you didn't."

"You're burning up my five minutes on purpose, aren't you?"

"Am I that transparent?"

They smiled, lost in the banter for a moment until Rotti started to speak again.

"If your mother hadn't left me, Shilo, you would be mine." He announced to both the little girl and the audience. "Deny your father now, for the world to see- Kill him!" There was a gasp from the crowd, and Mag felt Severus' grip on her arm tighten.

"He's given her a gun."

And that was that. Mag pulled away and, without even taking a moment to fully compose herself, stomped out onto the stage- this time eliciting a much louder gasp, and even a few screams. "Shilo, don't!"

"Stay out of this, Mag." Rotti growled in a low tone meant only for Mag to hear.

"She's a child!"

"_Stay out of this, woman!_"

"Shilo, don't. Don't let him use you like this." Mag urged her, moving slowly so as not to slip or crash into anything. Her hip met something made of metal and firm cloth, and she grasped it carefully.

"Mag?" It came from below, and she realized that she was holding onto a chair- the same one Nathan was strapped into.

"But- But- I-" Shilo looked frantically between Mag and her father and Rotti and the gun in her hand, a little ten year-old girl trying to wrap her mind around something even the adults were having trouble with. "Wait- What- Who-?"

"He's using you, Shilo! He'll trap you the same way he trapped me!"

"_Get off the stage, you_-!"

Mag opened her eyes.

Now the screaming started in earnest again. Mag turned towards the audience. "This isn't a show! This isn't fake! My eyes are really gone, and Rotti has _really_ just handed a gun to a little girl and told her to kill her own father! _Is anyone going to do something about this?_"

No one moved.

"_Kill him!_" Luigi Largo, munching on a bag of popcorn, had rejoined the audience, sitting up front with Pavi. Shilo stared at him and the gun in her tiny hands in horror.

"N-No- I- I- _Can't_-"

"Kill him," Rotti said firmly, "And I leave you GeneCo."

"_What?_"

This had been shouted by four people at once: Luigi, Pavi, Mag and Nathan. In his surprise, Luigi's bag of popcorn ended up, overturned, on the head of the man sitting directly behind him.

"_All_ of it?" Pavi shrieked. Rotti grimly pulled a piece of paper out of his jacket pocket and held it up.

"You're all witnesses! All I have to do is sign this paper, and all _you_ have to do is pull the trigger!" He stepped menacingly towards Shilo as Luigi and Pavi jumped back on stage. Their pleas to their father were incoherent, mere noise- Shilo's voice rose clearest of all.

"You- Want- To- Pay- Me- To- To- To- _Kill my father?_"

"He's the Repoman! He's drugged your blood, he's murdered countless men and women! _He_ _murdered_ _your mother!_"

"_I don't have to share his choices!_" Shilo screamed.

"Shilo, _throw the gun away!_" Mag called. Oh, of all the times to _not_ have her sight! She could have just run over and pulled it out of her hands!

"You're the Repoman's daughter! _Murder is in your blood!_"

"_Murder is a choice!_"

"_SHUT UP, WOMAN!"_

"_I don't want this!_" Shilo shoved the gun back at Rotti.

"Didn't you say you'd been infected by your parents and their blood? _Didn't you?_" Rotti bellowed. Shilo stared, silent, and then slowly stumbled backwards, intending to run offstage at any moment.

Nathan cried out hoarsely, agonized. "I poisoned you. I'm worse than Rotti: I imprisoned you. I couldn't lose you, Shilo- Oh _God,_ what have I done to you?" Rotti grimaced and raised the gun, only for Shilo to dart forward and grab it back.

"You used my mom's death to use my dad, and now you want me to kill him so you can use me too?" She half cried, half snapped. So she _did_ have a spine, Severus pondered.

"Your _daddy_ deserved everything that happened to him, as did that whore over there!" He gestured in Nathan and Mag's direction. "They needed me, and _so do you!_"

"You _don't need him_! You're not sick! You don't need a cure!" Mag implored Shilo. Shilo's eyes brightened with realization of this, though she still frowned and kept the gun pointed at Rotti. Severus was starting to see in her eyes some serious conflict; Rotti had hurt her father, her idol, her mother and herself; she had a gun, she had a reason.

Why not?

Nathan was starting to see this same reasoning in his daughter's eyes. "Shilo, don't make my mistakes. Your future is up to you. You're not infected. You don't need to do what I did- You-"

In the next seconds, the lights went out.

But in those few seconds, Severus saw Rotti approach Shilo, hand outstretched.

She cried out in surprise.

He had the gun.

"**_NO!_**"

"_Protego!_"

**_BANG!_**

Screams erupted from the assembly of people once more as the stage darkened and all that was visible was the flash from the gun.

When the lights came on, the scene on the stage was frozen.

Nathan and Mag had squeezed their eyes shut reflexively upon hearing the gun go off, expecting to feel the sting of the bullet as it tore through their flesh.

But no.

Shilo had slapped her hands over her eyes and screamed when she'd felt the gun leave her hands. She'd expected to see her father or Mag lying dead on the stage, and burst into relieved tears when she saw that they were unharmed.

Pavi and Luigi Largo were looking around in shock. No one was dead? How anti-climactic. Luigi glared at his father.

"You _missed, _old man-"

And that's when they saw it.

The small triangle of Rotti's white dress shirt that was visible under his jacket was rapidly turning red. His eyes were wide, and his mouth was moving, but no sounds were coming out.

He'd been shot.

The audience was perplexed, stunned, stupefied at this. What had happened? Had Rotti shot himself?

"What happened? Why is everyone so quiet?" Mag whispered.

"Rotti's been shot."

"What? But- How-"

She remembered Severus, not so far behind her, and fell silent.

Shilo charged across the stage and jumped onto her father, eliciting an agonized groan from him. He ignored his pain, though, and tried to soothe his daughter's powerful sobbing.

Rotti collapsed to the wooden-paneled floor, dead.

For exactly two minutes and thirty-seven seconds, Shilo's sobbing was the only noise in the theater.

Mag felt a sudden, severe rush of dizziness and gripped the back of Nathan's chair compulsively. Her head fell forward and she felt as though she were in danger of collapse. Her five minutes had come and gone, but Severus had not dragged her off stage. She would have to thank him for that later.

Without warning, a startlingly familiar voice (To Severus) boomed through the hall:

"_I believe now would be a good time for everyone to please vacate the premises in an orderly fashion. Thank you for attending the opera, and have a pleasant evening."_

Like zombies, the patrons of the opera rose from their seats and stumbled out in a daze, unspeaking, unhearing, unthinking. When almost all of them were gone, the voice returned:

"_Would the Largo brothers please report backstage and tend to their sister? She's rather hysterical at the moment. Thank you._"

Luigi and Pavi had been staring numbly at their father's rapidly cooling body. Slowly, they exchanged blank, flat looks, and then, without protest, stumbled off backstage to find Amber.

When everyone else was gone, Albus Dumbledore appeared behind Severus. The young teacher stared at the elderly headmaster in wordless inquiry: _What the hell are you doing here? How do you always **know?**_

Dumbledore smiled. "I think, Severus, that Miss Dafoe needs tending to." He suggested gently. The dark haired man blinked, then jumped and turned around to see Mag tottering, close to unconsciousness. He immediately ran out and caught her around the waist, letting her lean against him.

Looking over her father's shoulder, Shilo sniffled. "Will she be okay?" She croaked. Dumbledore strode over and gave Shilo a kind pat on the head.

"She'll be just fine, Miss Wallace. She's in excellent hands."

* * *

At four AM the next morning, Mag awoke to darkness.

Dumbledore had benevolently offered to bring the Wallaces to Britain, away from any hospital in Sanitarium. The opera had been broadcasted live- everyone knew who Nathan Wallace and his daughter were. They weren't safe there anymore. Nathan's work as the Repoman had been legal, but ugly- he would have no friends there now.

Mag didn't know the details, but just before she'd finally slipped into the sweet oblivion of sleep, Severus had assured her that Dumbledore would help Nathan and Shilo relocate. "Trust me," He'd muttered, "It's just the sort of person he is."

Nathan and Shilo were brought to a muggle hospital; Mag was brought to St. Mungo's, a name that rang familiar in her memory. Severus stayed with her, and Dumbledore accompanied the father and daughter to assure that they'd pass through everything they needed to without hassle.

Mag awoke to darkness; but she felt, quite unmistakably, a hand and a set of fingers wrapped loosely around her wrist.

She knew that grip.

"Severus?"

She heard him stir vaguely- he must have been asleep. Blind, she had no concept of time from the light or from a clock. Blind, she could only make an educated guess that it was her and Severus alone in the room. Blind, she could only assume that this Dumbledore person was as kind and trustworthy as he sounded and as Severus made him out to be. Being blind robbed her of a lot of things.

But it had also set her free.

"How are you feeling?" He inquired.

"Like I've been run over by a truck." She moved to sit up, but his hand forced her back down again.

"No. You're not- I- Just lie back down." He muttered ruefully. She did so with only slight reluctance; blood loss, as well as a long night, day, week, month, _years_ had exhausted her beyond belief.

"Where are Shilo and Nathan?"

"A muggle hospital. They're safe." Severus' voice was strained, tense. Something was bothering him.

"Are you all right?" Mag inquired. One hand remained in his; her right hand came up to lightly trace the bandages over her now empty eye-sockets.

"Me? I'm just fine. I went to, quite possibly, the most garish display of idiocy, wealth and vanity known to mankind, the highlight of which being that sow's face dropping off less than a minute into the performance. I watched as people stupidly proclaimed their faith and success in GeneCo whilst the voices of reason were stuck outside, watched as a man gave a gun to a child and ordered her to kill her own father in return for an empire soaked in blood, and I got to watch the woman I love rip her own eyes out. So _yes_, Mag, I'm fine."

Silence.

"What?" She heard the faint sound of skin on skin; He had slapped his free hand over his eyes.

"You aren't seriously asking me to repeat all of that."

"No- Just that last part. And you got to watch the woman you…?" Mag trailed off softly as she waited for a response.  
She heard a sniff, and had the sudden impression that Severus was no longer looking at her.

"'Love'. I said 'love'."

She felt his grip on her wrist tighten, and she smiled.

Severus shivered and tried not to linger on the sentiment of the moment, knowing that it would make him violently ill. He was saved, once more, by the timely arrival of Albus Dumbledore.

"Good eve- Oh my, no- It's morning now, isn't it?" Dumbledore chuckled. He smiled benignly at the exhausted 'Please-Don't-Do-This-Bull-Shit-Now' look he got from Severus, and then nodded to Mag. "I would hazard a guess that you are both quite drained from the night's events, and so I shan't keep you long."

"It's no trouble at all, Professor." Mag said politely. A sixth sense was telling her that Severus was not looking or acting so courteously.

"All the same, I believe you both need rest. I will, first of all, start with this: Mr. Wallace and his daughter are quite well, and he should be able to leave the hospital within the week." Mag let out a relieved sigh. Nathan and Shilo were taken care of; Marni would be happy, and that was all Mag cared about.

"I have a proposal for you, Miss Dafoe." Dumbledore stood next to Severus at Mag's bed side. "As of this coming term, we are short a staff member at Hogwarts: Our Muggle Studies professor has, most unfortunately, been called away on familial duty. I was wondering if, perhaps, you might like to fill that role in the coming term?"

If she'd had eyes, Mag would have blinked.

"I- Well- That's- Quite a generous offer, Professor Dumbledore, but- I…" Mag weakly motioned towards her face. "I'm not certain that I could perform the job as well as someone with… Eyes."

"If you so choose not to replace your eyes, Miss Dafoe, I'm sure we can find a way to work around it."

Again, Mag would have blinked.

"Replacements?" Sensing the foreboding in her voice, Severus spoke up.

"Magical eyes. The kind that work just as well as GeneCo's and can't be repossessed. Recall that organ repossession is quite the foreign concept outside of Sanitarium Island." He muttered.

No repossession?

No Repomen?

Teaching at the same school as Severus?

How quickly life could turn around for a person.

"I'll do it."


	6. Chapter 6

WOW. LOOK AT ME AND MY SPACYNESS.

Yeah. I kinda forgot this was here.

This is what college will do to you.

* * *

Epilogue

* * *

"Hey- Hey, Ron- See that woman up there?" Fred nodded to a beautiful, dark haired woman seated next to Snape at the staff table. Ron and Harry craned their necks to get a look.

"What about her?" Harry asked. George gave a wicked grin and motioned for the two eleven year-olds to lean closer.

"Rumor has it," He whispered wickedly, "She's Snape's _wife_."

"Oh rubbish." Percy glared at his younger brothers. "I don't want you two spreading around some baseless rumor for the sake of kicks." Fred and George shot their older brother identical indignant expressions.

"Baseless?"

"Come on now, Perce- When have we ever spread a baseless rumor?" Percy gave him an ugly look.

"Hagrid, McGonagall, Snarfalump Pods, the giant squid. _And I forbid you to tell these two about it!_" He hissed. Harry and Ron had eagerly perked up at what sounded like a very good story indeed. At Percy's threat, though, they sank back and sulked.

'Later!' George mouthed.

"It is not a _baseless_ rumor. I'll have you know that at the tail end of last year, we saw a picture of that very same woman in Snape's office."

"One and the same. Same hair, same make-up, same skin, same everything. Every bit as gorgeous as her photographic representation."  
Percy's glared daggers at the pair. "What," He hissed, "Were you two doing rummaging around in Professor Snape's office?" The twins were saved by Dumbledore and his gift of perfect timing.

"Now that we are all fed and watered, I have a few start-of-term notices for you all. First years will note that the forest on the ground is out-of-bounds to students- And a few of our older pupils should remember that as well. The Third Floor corridor is out of bounds to any and all who do not wish to die a most painful death."

"Is he joking?" Harry whispered weakly. Fred, George and Ron shrugged.

"And taking over for our Muggle Studies class in place of Professor Dinklage, who's returned home to care for an ailing family member, is Professor Magdalene Dafoe." Mag rose from her seat in acknowledgement, just as Quirrell had. She was met with polite applause and, if she'd heard correctly, a wolf-whistle. She saw Minerva McGonagall shoot a deathly glare towards the Gryffindor table.

Severus was glaring as well. She smiled at him, and he sniffed.

"Great way to start a job." He grunted.

* * *

The next morning, Fred and George were at the front of the Muggle Studies classroom, with a very clear and close-up view of Professor Dafoe.

And oh, were they grateful.

She was easily one of the few teachers that would be easy to listen to during a lecture; her voice was very pretty. Her physical appearance wasn't exactly hard on the eyes either. As George had stated the night before, that picture had done her justice.

The Professor explained the outlines of the course, which basically involved teaching them about normal things in muggle life; ergo, if they went into jobs that required them to interact at length with muggles, they would know things that all muggles tended to know simply from common sense.

"Does anyone have any questions?"

George's hand shot up. The Professor spent a split second eyeing him with something akin to caution, and he knew that if Snape hadn't warned her about the Weasley Twins, the rest of the staff had.

"Yes, Mr.…?"

"Weasley, ma'am. George Weasley." Professor Dafoe smiled at him, albeit a bit warily.

"And your question, Mr. Weasley?"

"Are you really married to Professor Snape?"

There were a few sharp choking noises of surprise from their classmates. Angelina Johnson in particular was looking at him as though he'd just jumped onto the desk before him and started doing a jig.

It was a bold statement; they had yet to truly glean just how strict or lax Professor Dafoe was, and how exactly she would react to a comment such as George's. Dumbledore would have laughed. McGonagall would have given them a month's detention. Snape would have killed him on the spot (Translating to three month's detention).

Dafoe looked surprised for a moment- but just a split second, really. She quickly regained full composure and allowed a little smirk to cross her face.

"Mr. Weasley, I fail to see how that relates to the topic of Muggle Studies. Please ensure that all further inquiries are _pertinent_ to the course." With that she flicked her wrist a bit to adjust the sleeve of her dress before leaning against her desk.

With that small movement, though, the twins' eyes caught the reflection of something on her hand:

A small, gold wedding band.

They gaped. And then they met her stare again. The smirk flickered back in an instant, and then died just as quickly.

_Completely irrelevant. _

_But yes: As a matter of fact, I am. _

* * *

Fin


End file.
